It started to snow this afternoon. The first flakes falling in nervous flurries from a gunmetal sky. Now, looking out into the evening, there is nothing but snow swirling towards me, white on white. Ice crystals billow out of darkness, twisting, spinning, casting a blinding spell. My breath makes a warm mist against the chill of the window. I close my eyes, leaning my forehead on the glass, and think about how I could stop his heart. Perhaps suffocation would be kind? Slipping into his room at night, to hold a pillow over his face. Only I think that, even when sleeping, the natural impulse is to fight for life, and I imagine his legs jerking and kicking out, the awful wrestle with the thrash and twist of his body.