December 28, 2007
12:38 a.m.
Time to go back to my roots. To the cold. To the barren trees and softly falling snow. To the bitter, shivering, relentless, shattering cold. To the muffled crunches of solitary walks in the drifts, where the value of a warm hat and warmer thoughts is known.
Brush yourself off before going inside. Stomp your feet; kick the ground; kick the door.
"Why did you walk in the slush? Don't do that. Hurry, shut the door, shut the door. Take off your boots. Come in, come in!"
pink cheeks, runny nose, numb hands. hot chocolate. marshmallows, tiny; don't burn your tongue; too late. soft smiles, sniffles. oily hair. exhaustion. content.
close your eyes; they burn; your cheeks ache. Time to write, time to be, at your desk with the wind behind you, with your soul in its place, calm and comfortable, sinking into your chair, writing on your knee, writing on the arm, writing on the floor, on your side, on your back. it's dark, you're out of ink, your family asleep. time for a walk.
lay on the ground, on the white. cmrrmmmrphhhhbbbmmpphhhh. look up at the clouds, up. make an angel. stop. look at the flakes; they sting your cheeks again in the darkness, in the moonlight. mind your lower back. mind your neck. then relax. keep your thoughts warm; you can stay longer that way. so quiet. so still.
breathing and breath. breathing and breath. breathing and yes. close your eyes.
laughing and breath. so still. quiet outside racing within. a smile. alone. almost there. there. now.
time to go.
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