i was sitting in alderman cafe between classes in the early afternoon reading pope's essay on criticism and the snow kept coming down. for the first time in more than a year i was sitting in front of the windows and looking out across the void that was miller hall and remembering that once i ran up those front steps, and remembering too, a december night of the kind known as dark and stormy, the library steps overcrowded with waiters-out of the downpour i had run across and taken refuge under its porch. looking further at the tree that had stood behind it how i loved that tree in the springs magnificent with flowers white and dark pink and all i saw today was branches heartbreakingly stark like millay's poem - yet knows its boughs more silent than before. you can miss something so badly and never see it again.