Eighteen

Was she asleep or waking when

She caught the dream in flight?

And held her grip through misty blue,

Too blind by candlelight.

The day after Christmas Andrea sat alone at the breakfast table sipping her morning coffee before the children were up. She had awakened a full hour before the sun would stream through her bedroom window on one of the few mornings she might have lingered in bed; but there was no going back to sleep.

The newspaper hadn't come yet, so Andrea stared at the tiny tulips on the kitchen wallpaper as she sipped her strong hot coffee. She tried to relax in the silence of the early hour, but peace was as elusive as sleep had been. Andrea walked to the terrace doors and looked outside, nestling the warm mug between her palms as she stood before the cold glass. It had snowed during the night, and the backyard was bathed in radiant moonlight. The graceful limbs of the birch trees were piled high with white, and the evergreens bowed to the earth under the snow's weight. The line of the picket fence bordering the yard was softened by a rounded cap on each slat and rail. No dog tracks marred the pristine blanket; even Buddy was sleeping in.

Andrea shivered and reached with one hand to turn up the collar of her chenille robe. Her gaze fell to the new brocade slippers she wore, a gift from her sister. She wiggled her toes inside the snug fur lining and thought about the day before with her family.