14 December, 2004 the party's over
the Hawk is on the wing, tonight... scratching through trees that rattle like dried bones. the first signs of irreparable damage flung themselves against the windscreen on my midday travel north: staccato bullets of snow, ripped from the shredded fringe of thick clouds. the same clouds, in darkness, that hide the asteroid shower above it. damn, it makes my toes cold, just thinking about it. even the sound of GabbyPahinui's slack key on the player is having a difficult time convincing me that there's warmth anywhere in this hemisphere. when my feet are chilled, my optimism vanishes. of course, having ExMas music foisted on me at nine in the morning had a lot to do with that, too. in my own house. surely, grounds for uncontested divorce?
.
|