There was no physical representation of a new beginning. The world did not wipe itself clean when it was instructed to. As a girl she’d wanted to press nature into a calendar’s firm structure.
How very unscientific of you, Mulder murmurs into her hair. She rests a hand against the cold glass of their wide living room windows. The wind teases the tall grass beyond their porch into a simply choreographed sway, grey snow sliding off their steps as it appeases the laws of thermal energy.