This morning I fell back into deep snow and dug myself into a snow angel. Yeah. I didn’t tell anyone. I mean, c’mon, right? Who did I think I was kidding? I shook then, as if touched by — not God, or icy fever, but some lost tender spirit? What I want to say is that when I stood, I suddenly lost all grace and nearly fell onto my angel. My hand- print to save myself lies where my heart is/was/ should be, a badge in the snow-dusted grass. I noticed then the size of my wings, their broad sweeping arc — Who made those? I asked as snow continued falling. I looked up into it, almost dazzled again at sixty-five.