The Snow Child

by Eowyn Ivey

I don’t know if you ever get used to it really. It just gets in your blood so that you can’t stand to be anywhere else.”

But Jack was seeking out that deep, opaque place where sound and pain and light are muted, where a man doesn’t have to put words to his despair because his numb tongue and useless lips can’t speak anything at all.

I see that life itself is often more fantastic and terrible than the stories we believed as children, and that perhaps there is no harm in finding magic among the trees.