The inn was next to the stables where I lived above the clubhouse. They paid me four francs an hour, plus meals, to wash dishes and sweep the floors. In January there was one cold day that actually felt like winter, and I watched a feeble snowfall through the window above the sink. I jumped over the gate after work and snow fluffed away like dust when I landed on the horse path. I left clear footprints surrounded by thin snow that melted in just a few minutes.

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Keith Taylor has published fourteen books of poetry, short stories, translations or co-edited volumes. He works as the A.L.Becker Collegiate Lecturer in English at the University of Michigan, the Director of the Bear River Writers' Conference, and the Associate Editor at Michigan Quarterly Review.