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December 25, 2002
The forest was serene and pure. Surrounded by virgin whiteness and the spires of thousands of trees, I thought god must surely live here. And later I found the grave of my old friend, through luck or from repeated visitings, his flat headstone buried beneath a half foot of snow. I bounded over the ground until it felt like the right place and began digging with ungloved fingers until I found his name. Watery sun broke through and I fell on my back and made a snow angel six feet above his bones, my eyes drinking in the winter sky.