The letter traveled south to arrive safe. I dropped it in the mail on our way west, through the thick of snow. Snow! It brought out the wild one(s), crazed all morning before going skating. They banged on the piano then drum then ukulele. Marko played on the recorder. Max strummed the ukulele. Sonic Youth 2.0. We bundled up and drove into white, inching along the caked snow. Stopped by Target for raspberries, milk, and tree. I stood in line and overheard a guy at the service counter say, “I AM your Holiday, People.” And I believed him.
