My hands were numb and slick with water and ice, so I could not hold onto her. Silently, blindly, I searched for her, through the frigid crystals; we swam in a jewelled, aquamarine swamp. I thought she found me when the warmth came. Even in the coldest of places, she had a mother's warmth.
I was pulled out; mother wasn't. Hours later, I wondered why we never waited for the ice to move.
Long years will pass before I can find her hand again. But when alone, I feel her warmth wrap about me as I did before we parted.