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Winter 2004 

First Winter of My Illness
Mary Anne Mitchell

Snowflakes, dancing in the wind,
land with a delicate touch
on my outstretched tongue.
The first tentative flakes
meander through the air,
swirling and twirling,
head over heels,
giddy with delight
like children in a playground.
Soon enough,
the snow takes on a serious quality,
heavy with purpose,
cold to the touch,
landing silently
until the ground is covered
with a blanket of shimmering crystals.

Across the street
a man is already shoveling the first layer.
The snow is lifted from its resting place
and tossed aside in a jumbled heap.
My neighbor’s son races outdoors
shrieking with pent-up laughter.
Twirling, arms flung wide
he falls backward,
creating a snow angel with muddy boots.
I can feel the icy shiver up my spine
as snow seeps into his collar.
He lies as if dead
— boy and snow —
then opens his mouth to
welcome the newest arrivals.

Slowly, I turn from the mailbox,
letters in hand,
my cane
bearing the weight
of trembling limbs.
I take a ragged breath
and drag in puffs of icy air,
willing my heart
to slow
its relentless pace
as my immune system
kicks into overdrive.
Winter claims my frozen view
and settles in my bones.