The snow. Last night falling quietly, the white against the back sky high as that elephant’s eye. Snow. The snow  has descended. Your house is cold. You have no food. In fact, you own nothing. Not even yourself. No bed. We fixed that one. But I’m freezing. I know you love your house but when I see you pulling off wood to use for heat, you’re going to lose what you love. Don’t we all. Don’t we all.