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House with Hayroll 24" x 30" |
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Seventeen degrees one
way, eight another. Either way it's cold as hell. The dampness of the broad
Mississippi valley drives needles of ice into my fingers. My toes refuse to
bend. Move my mittened hand, a clumsy overloaded brush. Move becomes my
mantra. Crushing sounds rebound from matter which refuse to hear; the dumbness of
the world engulfs me. To cross my station, a tensile echo moves, only to fade into
nothingness in the meager air.
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Copyright © 1996 - 2008 Lacey Stinson, DHTML menu - Milonic Software, overLIB - Erik Bosrup