I lay in my bed, not wanting to start my day. I stare at the intricate frost patterns that dance into paisley designs on my wavered glass window. I remember my mama once told me little snow fairies were the painters of these magical designs. I curl up, covering my head underneath the lofty cotton sheets, pretending like I could stay content in my bed for eternity. I open my eyes and stare at the timber-framed ceiling, I turn my head and I see a little box resting beside me. It was wrapped in papery birch bark, tied with thin wiry blueberry branches, and frosted highbush cranberries and rose hips were delicately tucked underneath the tie. There were still little snow crystals laying by that little box, I knew it was placed there recently, but by whom? I began to open the box and I felt a sense of excitement, a feeling that had become so foreign to me, ever since my mama passed. I slowly opened the box to find my mama's necklace, the same jeweled pomegranate necklace she always wore. I sat in my bed, upright, curious, engaged, and for the first time in three months, I felt a sense of hopefulness. I clasped the necklace around my neck and walked by my mama's room; white flowing curtains, her beautifully crafted quilt, her colorful silk scarves that draped over her driftwood hanger, and her antique wooden dresser brought tears to my eyes. I felt an urge to run to my room and curl up in my covers, I didn't. I walked down the spruce slabbed stairs and saw my papa sitting there, looking like he hadn't slept for three months. The kitchen table was covered in photo albums of our happy little family. I looked around and saw every little creative detail my mama did to the house; the climbing plants and Christmas cacti that were living in beautiful ceramic dishes, the pieces of driftwood that were tastefully placed throughout the house, my mama's quotes she wrote on pieces of watercolor paintings, the boughs of dried calendula and comfrey behind the stove. I couldn't take it, I ran outside, I needed to breathe fresh air, I felt like the memories of my mama were engraved in the walls, and those walls were collapsing onto me. 

I knew the only place I wanted to go was in the forest behind my house. I ran through my mama's snow veiled garden, by her porcelain white sink that she used to wash and trim her flowers, rhubarb, and greens, I ran by our greying wood bird feeder that hung on a birch tree, and finally, I was at the tree that invited me to rest on its roots. The fairy house my sister and I made still sat there, moss covering the roof, bark acting as walls, spruce sap acting as glue, mountain man's beard hanging, and little dried berries were scattered about. I listened to the squirrels' chatter like there is nothing wrong and for a second, I too forgot. I let myself fall asleep against the tree; in the snow, next to my innocently happy childhood. 

I awoke to find sparkling snow crystals all over me, I saw a parade of footprints that danced around me, and I followed them. I curiously walked for hours and I eventually saw the deep blue, ice-covered pond. I could see the spidering cracks that lay beneath the glossy surface of the ice, I peered through and saw tiny little fish swimming fast in the dark blue water. I laid flat and listened to the unique, mysterious songs the ice created, and as I listened I began to morph the noises into my mama's peaceful voice. My warm tears flowed down my cold, yet sheltered face. I felt a breeze drift over me as I lay on the ice, and I noticed I didn't know where I was. My fingers looked like they had been blueberry stained and my hair was frozen. The sky was dark, there were little to no stars, and the waning moon floated above. I clinched onto my mama's necklace and I felt a surge of energy tiptoe down my spine. I reached into my pocket and found a little box of matches. I lit a dry cottonwood branch, and I let it guide me through the sleepy, snowy forest.

I saw my mama's shadow walking ahead of me, she and the fire guided me home. It was then that I knew my mama was always going to be there.