When I think about Ashley, I think about him buried beneath the snow, and none of the tracks leading up to him are mine. In my dreams I follow the tracks left before me, stepping into the footprints and wondering what it was like to really know him, to feel welcome here, to have the right to visit. I lie down and sink into the snow, wonder how far I have to dig to find him, how many layers must be scraped away before time changes direction. My breath caresses him across the ether, and thereç—´ a charge in the air. Static on the verge of spark.