Soft snow

Soft snow swept easily from the car drive now through inches roads not yet plowed. Stevies on the radio, Nicks and Wonder; Too High, On The edge Of Seventeen. My cousin like a white dove drove a black trick paint Thunderbird or was it a Camero before she had babies, before she ended up alone some back woods Michigan wilderness and at the time I morassed in my own wilderness unable to help. Surprised when she told me her mother just died, cancer like my mother but so unlike my mother a darker version by necessity. I take the roads over narrow bridges through wood roads some paved some not, no one else for company, this hour of daylight only for me. Wondering why seven years later I think of her, what were the kids names? what ever happened next? As if I forgot about her 'til now as if not forgetting her but those seven years and I'm just going to call her back today like a promise once made kept. After the funeral of my mother, we took a walk up through another pine wood sat by the lake side, she wanting to be supportive, wanting to help me with her own sadness and so we blew a joint and so we kissed once maybe twice never again and I always thought she'd somehow make it, Trans Am floored Stevie blared something sky rocketry perpetual youth plugged into a dynamic different than the dictates of our families.