(no subject)

The simple truth of the matter is this: On Sunday I had a glimpse outside of the house of mirrors, on Saturday I couldn’t have seen my way out of a paper bag. And while I was skiing back toward the truck that morning, a wind came up behind us and swirled the snow around our bodies like a blizzard under blue sky. And I was struck by the simple perfection of the snowflakes, and startled by the hopefulness of sun on frozen trees.

— Pam Houston, from her story “A Blizzard Under Blue Sky”