Chapter 32
Fingers of snow stretch and twirl across the winter blanket covering my yard. In the centre of the driveway a double eight appears, four feet tall, swirling magically like Tinker Bell's stardust. With no visible celestial beings, my yard lamps have the job of drawing the space around our house into an enchanting vision of mystical dancers.
What am I thinking! This isn't wonderland. Beneath the snow is decay. Decomposing leaves frozen in place until spring ripens their stench. Rotting insects, food for next year's swallows before many of them fly into my cleaned windows and break their necks. Smelly feces: compliments of neighbours who would never think to fence in their cats or dogs.
Someone took great pains to make winter look pristine. I know differently. Life is a lie. The
