Winter is here.

Perhaps because it is Christmas, I dream of every member of my family - the ones I would like to see again and the ones whom I would just as soon forget entirely. In my dreams, they come back to me and we re-fight the same battles from which was born my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Winter is here. The snow is deeper with each passing hour, and twice as deep for those of us with half as much shelter. I have seen this snow before, confronting it with wings and not pelts.

Tradewinds are fickle as the human constitution. What goes up does come down . . . somewhere.