I try to see into the woods beyond my LED headlamp but the air has gotten cold and my breath creates an endless fog. Ice crystals dance on the leaves and ground, forming frost. Each time my cloud floats away it is time to breathe again. The moon is full and the helicopters have taken a break. My search group splintered into the wind and my wife and I are alone. I reach up and turn off my light then wait for my eyes to adjust to the forest. She does too. My other senses spring to life; smell of the pine, feel of the slow air held close to the ground by the pine thicket, sounds muffled by the dense bed of pine needles and brush; taste of the forest at night.

I sit on the ground, basking in the silence. My wife sits by me. We are helpless…