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Contents Page: April 1, 2011, vol 7 no 1

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Hortensia Anderson



Snow falls lightly at first. As the wind rises,

fragile ice crystals cling. Swirling around me,

the air turns pure white.

Back home, I heat spiced glogg, spooning sul-

tanas into my mouth. They feel plump, heavy

with aquavit - life water.

A fire in the hearth glows. Red camellias wo-

ven through my black silk robe blaze. I feel

myself drifting, drifting...

The telephone rings.

On an icy road, my cousin Elise spun out. She is dead.

"Take care" I had said, giving her a last hug.

For a second, we clung like snow.

"Don't I always?" she replied, laughing.

winter chill –
the snowflake on my cheek
melts to a tear


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