After a trip somewhere Aya and I return home at night. We can float on the winter wind and we land above our roof on a railroad bridge that stretches above the town. There is a thin layer of snow on the rooftops and railroad bridge and it crunches under foot.
I am cradling a very small kittens.
We are talking and laughing while we climb from the bridge to our roof and make our way down the different levels of the house and garage. I suddenly realize we have to be careful as we are still very high up and the roofs are steeply angled and the snow can be slippery. Aya realizes this at the same time but it is too late for her. She is making her way down the rooftops across a gap from me and she slips and falls into the black space.
My heart stops and I call out her name and adjust my eyes to the dark depths. She calls back and I see she has fallen on a canvas covering a mound of sand. She is safe. I am relieved.
The little kitten looks like Winston did when he was just born.
