by Ace Boggess Gabriela Fechet Snowing again. Today, we enter our third week of uncertainty. A herd of deer slide-steps down the hillock of our yard, five Gene Kellys dancing, not in rain, not singing. How do they keep hoofing it without falling? I walk outside, & cold fluff kisses my ears, caresses my neck. I flinch as if having made slightest contact easing past a stranger in the doorway: disconcerted & delighted, keeping that sensation private. Quiet? Quite. Exhale. Ace Bo