380. Because the snow fell a day late, they walked out that night onto snow that sparkled in the streetlight. They walked down the road, through the woods to the lake, a journey they had taken before, washed new and white. Fog drifted above the waters, enveloping the night in the city's holiday glow. They make a game of acting out their last journey: He follows her and tries to synchronize the rhythm of his steps to the rhythm of her steps. It's a slower, quieter chase, muted by the snow carpet. This time she lets him catch her without a struggle and he holds on tight. Hugging her was coming home. They stay within each others gaze for the rest of the evening, hoping that the morning will be just as glorious. If they don't break the spell, it will. The day will twinkle, sparkle, shoot forth its single bits.