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275 From the Page to the Pen Love Letter to Hans Christian Andersen Jennifer Fandel Hans Christian Andersen never married. On the day he died, he was found in bed with an old love letter in his hand. I have skated deep circles around the pond waiting, but you never come. The snow piles up, the ice grows thick, and when I call through the boundaries of trees, your name hovers in the frozen air. My breath is smoke in the cold and my hands turn stiff in my mittens. We can have quiet happiness, Hans, should you walk from the forest to this pond where I wait. Spring near, my breath soon will disperse with my loneliness. The snow will melt, the ice thin until one can see the water beneath. Forever, I feel I’ve stood here, looking through the trees. The ice will break with the warmth, but even if your footsteps come, I am not foolish enough to believe that you can save me from time passing. Should I receive no word from you, I will know the truth and will believe it. Until then, I listen to the vowels of the wind, the consonant ice breaking, traveling downstream. I know from these sounds comes your voice and truth and this daring action, opening like seed from spring-thawed ground. ...

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