After days of sweat and seeking grace, I’m back to a place where the coldest winter nests. Snowflakes fall through the ceiling onto my eyes. Stairs, petrified by the frost of silence. At the tip of my ear, I hear the dining table crack its hatch— the way the lake groans to be dived. And the fence rusts whenever warmth fades, while I lay on my bed and the aurora crawls through my head, cast a shadow—does it all need to be fixed?