Your Rossignols humming down a steep way, you turn out of sight. ``Wipe out!'' your laughter floats up. Ski-patrol hero, I hurry to rescue you - and hit the same curve. With a three-quarter twist, I manage to throw one ski pole into a pine tree before I land on my back at your feet. A veil of crystals drifts down over us and you are the snow-bride whose dark hair the sun and I whisper our warm songs into.