Eight degrees below zero, windchill at minus 23 and a steady snowfall – I feel like I have a classic winter walk under my belt, the full experience, if you will. Sure, we could still get a foot of snow in a spring blizzard, but I’m thinking we’ve passed the nadir, temperature-wise.
It’s a turning of the world, you know, this tracing the tracks of unfamiliar creatures through delicate powder with only a quarter moon for light. I keep stopping to listen, just in case they are the ones who are searching for me
And then we sit in our warm homes, blessed with the selective blindness of human love. Which eye to open? Which eye to close?
This is the place and exact moment in which our hands first touched, when we began to step in time, turning slightly as the music begins, rolling with the memory of thunder and wind and blinding light.
Stuck on the dance floor … again.