Quote from Snow...

... by Ann Beattie

"This is a story, told the way you say stories should be told: somebody grew up, fell in love, and spent a winter with her lover in the country. This, of course, is the barest outline; and futile to discuss. It's as pointless as throwing birdseed on the ground while snow still falls fast. Who expects small things to survive when even the largest get lost? People forget years and remember moments. Seconds and symbols are left to sum things up. The black shroud over the pool. Love in its shortest form becomes a word. What I remember about all that time is one winter. The show. Even now, saying "snow", my lips move so that they kiss the air. No mention has been made of the snowplow that seemed to always to be there, scarping snow off our narrow road -- an artery cleared, though neither of us could have said where the heart is."