“Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come.”

“Colored lights blink on and off, racing across the green boughs. Their reflections dance across exquisite glass globes and splinter into shards against tinsel thread and garlands of metallic filaments that disappear underneath the other ornaments and finery.Shadows follow, joyful, laughing sprites.The tree is rich with potential wonder.All it needs is a glance from you to come alive.”

“On the frozen tundra, I milked a cow and pumped out ice cream. Strangely, it had chunks of strawberries in it.”

“Sorry," I said..."Sorry for what?" He glanced over at me."For whatever I did wrong," I said."Did you do something?"I shrugged, "Why are you not talking to me?""I'm just driving." He moved his hand from the gearshift onto my leg. "Do you like snowmobiling?""I love it," I said.He shot me a look. "Have you ever gone snowmobiling before?""No," I said.He smiled. God, I hate his smile, I love it so much.”

“When the cold comes to New England it arrives in sheets of sleet and ice. In December, the wind wraps itself around bare trees and twists in between husbands and wives asleep in their beds. It shakes the shingles from the roofs and sifts through cracks in the plaster. The only green things left are the holly bushes and the old boxwood hedges in the village, and these are often painted white with snow. Chipmunks and weasels come to nest in basements and barns; owls find their way into attics. At night,the dark is blue and bluer still, as sapphire of night.”

“I shoved him off the snowmobile. He landed on his back in the snow. "Love is a brat, you think? No, love id fine. You are the brat, you spoiled, rotten brat!”