snow, bones, trinkets
I'd never driven in the snow before. It was disconcerting because my eyes didn't know where to go; all these thousands of flecks of glinting whiteness made my eyes cross to look through them. It's cold here, and full of corporate shopping experiences, and nobody has soy milk. Perhaps they don't yet know that the technology exists to make milk out of beans and not grieving mothers. I'll give them that. Apparently, they all marry at 17 and smoke, too, so it may be a while until they catch up.
If I sound grumpy, it's because I've had to work really hard to find any non-tinned vegetables. Freaking canned peas. Salty-candle-wax beans. My stomach lining is deeply offended. I'm dreaming about a huge plate of steaming fresh collards and a side of chorizo potatoes, and the dream is making my tummy rattle.
The thicker-by-the-minute dusting of snow is making me think about changing seasons. Facebook has suddenly unfrozen the audioanimatronic circuitry of my memory-people and given them greyer hair and extra pounds and kids, and as the old people around me talk about the things that were really not long ago at all and yet they were before I breathed my first...I look into myself and see that so much must happen without waiting.
Vivir con miedo, es como vivir a medias. Feel the rhythm. Don't be scared.