...To trample: this was ours, and we unshaken stood.
I reach my warm hands to my starry belly, stretch the digits as far as they will go, hoping against hope that this earthly caress will be enough to coax dormant dust out of its fleshy cave. (Inner beast grumbles; outer beast does not understand.) Once again, I find myself holding on to empty hands....
I slowly push the screen door open. Outside, the air is bitter and thin. The air is ice and I am cold. I clap my gloved hands together, rub them back and forth. Whistling, I reach for the shovel, take the plunge off the cement porch, out into the open, where the house’s creaky wooden roof is dwarfed in all ways by the ancient sky, overcast, glowing gray. And everything is quiet. Everything is deathly still. I look about myself, searching for the right place to build a snow fort in the shape of the universe.
I slowly push the screen door open. Outside, the air is bitter and thin. The air is ice and I am cold. I clap my gloved hands together, rub them back and forth. Whistling, I reach for the shovel, take the plunge off the cement porch, out into the open, where the house’s creaky wooden roof is dwarfed in all ways by the ancient sky, overcast, glowing gray. And everything is quiet. Everything is deathly still. I look about myself, searching for the right place to build a snow fort in the shape of the universe.