She opened the door, walked into her house--empty now that her husband had left--and hung her coat up on the last hanger in the closet. Her humming grew louder until she burst full out into song, singing in a squeaky, off-key voice, "It's the end of the world as we know it . . . "

They came together once more, their bodies not quite touching, and suddenly she heard a soft ringing somewhere in the distance. It was the chime of a clock, announcing the midnight hour. Her breath caught in her throat. It couldn't be over so soon, not yet, not now.

Much of the snow is gone now, but every few feet he strikes upon a patch and we listen as it crackles beneath his splendid hooves. The morning is slow and like all winter mornings, it is muted in pinks and subtle shades of lavender. The meadows stretch before us and I nod to his eagerness, to the fragile tie which is his knowledge of me. His hooves quicken to a trot, his head bows to his backbone and suddenly, we are the morning.

I noticed a group of young men in the back of the class sitting on a long bench. They looked a little older; in fact, they appeared to be about my age. Their eyes remained on me and one would nudge the other every now and again. I watched them covertly as I said each name until finally the last had been called and none seemed to belong to any of the fellows sitting in the rear.

"Excuse me," I spoke a little nervously. "I do not seem to have any of you on my roster."

As the only female within hailing distance, it fell to me in a patriarchal way to clean out Gram's attic. "Save what's good, honey," mother had said long distance. Click. Your problem, the disconnect said.

At the eleventh hour, she had almost recanted...but the thought of her infant daughter had buoyed her spirits, lending iron to her will and steel to her backbone. There could be no doubt that she would now prevail, strong and stalwart, to the end.