One day when there was snow on the ground, we went for a walk at Mason Neck. It was monochromatic—grey sky, black trees, white snow.
The wind tore through our clothes.
Shivering, she asked, "Why are we here?"
"We were born," I answered, not in the mood for another pointless argument.
She nodded, breathing frost, and we walked on.
Untitled (excerpt), 2004
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