Preview: Snow is an element that can be both magical and life-threatening. Thankfully, today, it was the former. A blanket of snow fell several days ago, giving time for snow plows to clear the roads, for boys looking for spare money for presents to offer to shovel a sidewalk or driveway, and for husbands and sons to clear away paths for beloved ones.

Living alone, Len had no one to clear the driveway for him, nor would any young men, or women for that matter, approach his door in search of work. He had no children, no siblings to grace his presence, and no neighbors within shouting distance.

As a felon or ex-felon, in his case, one generally doesn't endear oneself to those around. Oh, he could buy groceries from the local Wal-Mart, but he didn't go in there in person. Rather, he paid to have his groceries delivered. Surprisingly, he knew how to use a computer and order online. Wonders never ceased, he thought, when placing orders.

He wasn't bitter. He'd given up that line of thinking many years ago. When one spends 40 years behind bars, thoughts change over time. He didn't wish to be a bitter old man when he was released and figured at some point he would be released, so he had to forgive. What heinous crime did he commit to get a sentence requiring 40 years behind bars, and what preposterous reason could he have a need to forgive?

Len wondered how many people used a single-sheet-per-day desk calendar. He did. An hour earlier, he tore off the sheet, and there, staring him in the face, was a simple tree with a prominent star in the sky, and the date was December 24.

For some, he knew that the holidays could be a lonely time, and he was "encouraged" to attend counseling before being released. He'd had exactly one visitor during the forty years he was incarcerated, so when offered time to speak with another human who didn't have a shiv on their person and was absent of malice of thought toward him, he accepted.

As a person, the counselor was cordial, efficient, guarded, methodical, and seemed to lack empathy despite Len's unique situation. The session went something like this:

"Mr. McCoy, is it? I see that you're scheduled to be released next week. Have you any relatives that you wish contacted, or friends, or . . ." and his voice faded as he continued to scan down the visitor log, seeing no entries except the lone visitor just over twenty years ago, a journalist, who wrote a story that was ignored by most up until recently.

"No, thank you," I replied, "there's no one needing to be contacted."

He eyed Len warily, who wasn't sure of the counselor's concern, Len being well-shackled and, in nearly forty years, had not one charge of violent behavior.

"Uh, have you thought about what you would do when you are released?"

It was logical, if not quite original, and one Len anticipated being asked, as in, what would the mass murderer do for entertainment?

"I thought I might find a quiet place to live. Perhaps adopt a cat. I'd like to garden. Read." He paused for a moment as if to reflect. "Do you think they will allow that? Me to adopt a kitten? Or buy a hoe. Or do you suppose I'll be able to obtain a library card? I don't imagine I'll be able to borrow books from this prison any longer, will I?"

The counselor wasn't particularly good at his job, for if he had been, he would have been in private practice and not working for the state. One could see that he was trying to determine if Len's questions were real or being obsequious. He felt Len wasn't being sycophantic, apparently.

"No, not here, but yes, you will be able to get a library card and those other things. You are being released. You do understand that, Mr. McCoy, don't you? Pardoned. You'll be just like all other normal people."

Len simply smiled with his hands folded in front of him, shackled as per visitation rules.

Len's smile, when not showing teeth and with his eyes focused narrowly upon another's, could be quite harrowing.