Inspired by a tea ceremony she saw on TV, Lisa is giving matcha tea a whirl on the morning caffeine dance floor. The health benefits are undeniable. She’s hoping it will cure her creaky knees and offset the costs of her sedentary life. While waiting for the water to boil, she stares idly out the window and notices that the first snowflakes of the season salting the air. She thinks about this one friend and their running bet on predicting the date of the first snowfall. The rules are specific; the snow has to stick and accumulations must measure more than a quarter of an inch. Once again she tries to picture herself skiing, but all she sees are her ski tips locked in a child friendly snowplow. Even this modest lack of control sends her nervous system into overdrive. A crow lands on the rusted wrought iron rail outside her window. Crows are said to ferry souls to the underworld. The thought “How will I die?” is cut short by the high whistle of the tea kettle.