Snow Day
Who knew the Apocalypse would be so soft?
Outside, waiting for a bus that never came to accomplish a rescue mission I would have needed rescuing from; outside, boundaries of falling snow, the world disappears in all directions, the world a boundary penetrated by dots of snow, inside touching outside, a self-penetrated boundary; white except for a stop sign made more red for all the white. Wind chimes gonging from a nearby porch, rung more from the force of snow than wind. I'm at a crossroads. In a Kurosawa film. Death is there in the chondrichthyan passage of cars. Worry about the comfort of my almost-soon-to-be guests. Do I have enough board games. Will the roof cave in.
I want to make a room like this.
Outside, waiting for a bus that never came to accomplish a rescue mission I would have needed rescuing from; outside, boundaries of falling snow, the world disappears in all directions, the world a boundary penetrated by dots of snow, inside touching outside, a self-penetrated boundary; white except for a stop sign made more red for all the white. Wind chimes gonging from a nearby porch, rung more from the force of snow than wind. I'm at a crossroads. In a Kurosawa film. Death is there in the chondrichthyan passage of cars. Worry about the comfort of my almost-soon-to-be guests. Do I have enough board games. Will the roof cave in.
I want to make a room like this.