Article voiceover
Snow falls to cover the tracks, hides everywhere I’ve been. No one will know; perhaps not care. First the mouse tracks, then the squirrel. Fox prints disappear, then coyote. Deer are last, the wolf does not move. There are no bear tracks—they’re all sleeping. Through this whiteness I long for you. So many miles between us. Something is right and something is not right about this distance; either way, it leaves me groping in the dark, reaching for you. Each time my arms come up empty. Is this how love works? I’m not sure. My declarations do not matter. Only this feeling inside, this longing, this missing— these are the universal experiences we all know. And in my mind’s eyes, your beautiful face comes through the snow, the gift of an angel, and my heart pours out the window. The snow keeps adding to the whiteness. There are no tracks anywhere— only those many empty miles. I trudge silently toward where I saw that angel, the gift of your face again. I can’t wait for the snow to stop, the car to run, and for me to fly back to you.
—Anthony Signorelli