There isn't snow here anymore, but Commons Lawn still looks like something you could dive from, if you look from far enough back.

When you get as close as we were to the edge, you see that in fact that stone wall keeps nothing back but a meadow, some land that isn't ours. Today we are well-behaved. We stay where we ought.

Earlier we climbed into trees to avoid speaking to anyone but each other. We left two angel prints in the lawn, hers prouder and gentler than mine. We disappeared to the edge of how far we can go without falling.

If we had stepped down, we wouldn't have frightened anyone. They all know that it is a trick of the eye, a hoax. I wonder, could we have feigned jumping, dove and rolled our way out of sight into land that we don't own, just to frighten all those onlookers who can't comprehend the silence we cling to.

Dearest Anna, I am sorry that I am leaving you. I require more height, something larger than a feigned leap. We should've photographed the angels that we left, too.