It was fierce. Someone yelled, ‘Hold on!’ And I was screaming and screaming…grabbing for you…for anything. The terrible crunching and crushing of metal on steel…of cement against frozen air and smashed rubber. And it was finished in a lifetime of seconds. Balanced against the bitter edge of a black iced bridge…one hundred feet above a frozen winter marsh…black waters.
And then I was out in the road and the thick and heavy alpaca blanket dragged and soaked in the slush and I thought it so odd that thousands of miles from here some animal had shed fur and thick hair so that we might be warm at that darkest, most bitter hour before dawn…the day I almost lost you. The day I almost lost me.
And now my soul…what now? The gaping hole of having been spared tells me it must be filled. Now what my soul? Now what my spirit…where to?
690 Saint Paul 