Otter Creek Why should you believe in magic,

My dad, she responds, face lit with a momentary curiosity. Her dad had really been an effette nothing but he still occupied some hallowed ground in her mind, limned with bright light in the eyes of the daughter.

She was not as careful as she thought she was. If she went into a china shop and came out trailing pieces of broken porcelain was that really her problem? She did not consider things like her own girth and her own proclivity for clumsiness. Life only ever happened to her.

Funny doesn't mean ugly, she laughs, tosses her head. Her laughter tinkles clear and light, at odds with the rest of her.

At her feet the snow slowly melts away in rings around her ankles from her body heat.