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March 6th, 2018

It picks me up, and I just skip over the icky parts, instead marvel at the extendo-scansion of why she shouldn't turn him home again, and light up just like you do when it's time to roll down the windows and let the wind blow back our hair.  Cuz, really, what else can we do now?

It'd been a bad day yesterday, and today I woke up at 4:30 and that was it, so there I was, coming back from a longer walk with the dog than she usually gets in the morning, somehow enjoying the clarity of the stark, crisp air with its pellet flakes bouncing sideways off my head.  Uncle Bert'd stopped and got out of the car to greet my hairy creature, even while telling me how his isn't doing so well right now.  Then, back on our turf, while we lingered out front a little and one of us smelled things vigorously and ate snow chunkicles, the screen door slammed.
 

Postcard of the Day



 
 
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"What was once thought cannot be unthought."

-- Möbius, The Physicists

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"The moment of change is the only poem."

-- Adrienne R.

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