Snow
Snow fell all morning and afternoon, sucking the noise out of the world. Liana, framed like a painting in our living room window, was captured by the storm. She had barely moved for almost an hour. “Mike?” she said.
“Hmmm?”
“What keeps us together?”
I grunted incoherently, an action designed to acknowledge her question without initiating a conversation, and continued reading my newspaper. Liana stared out the window, spellbound, as though she had never seen a good long snowfall before.
“What do you think it is?” she said. “What’s the glue that holds people together?”
“I suppose it depends on the people,” I said.
Liana ran a finger down the window pane, leaving a long greasy trail. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “With me it’s music, I think. If I didn’t have music I would
