Snow angels

You are lying flat in a snow covered field looking straight ahead with your arms out at your sides. Majesties Peter and Paul are circling above you – their heads, like yours, in the clouds. There’s a barbed wire fence over there with Kamloops on this side and T’Kemlups on the other. Sheets of ice are drifting down the Thompson River and gathering where the North arm meets the South. Somewhere in between the spinning and the falling flat your voice snapped away and hurled in one direction or another. Moments later it fell, cold and silent, while you took to making snow angels. All these years later I find myself on my knees, in Australia, looking for ‘your’ voice! Go figure.