Drifts

There are places in my parent's backyard where the snow drifts come up and wrap around the blue, green, rusted frame of the trampoline, two point five or three feet high. And then there are places where there isn't a single flake on the ground. More than halfway through the storm, they say, should stop snowing by noon tomorrow. The wind is singing loudly and stirring everything around so much that when I look outside, it feels like I am lying on my side and looking out because everything is falling the wrong direction.

There is a bad taste in my mouth and my lips are half numb. Numbly numb.

Christandloveandmásandchristmasandgiftsandgiveandtakeandfriendsandfami
lyandloveandwantandneedandloveandhurtandabsenceandprivilegeandmisunde
rstandingandcrueltyandstruggleandloveandwrongness are all in the air, getting mixed up with each other and falling the wrong way in the wind out there. Some of these things I believe in, some of them I laugh at, some of them I hope for, and some of them I just play along with. We make big Hollywood movies about some of these things, like the way we make movies about superheroes, and then we wonder why spidersuperbatman doesn't come along and make it all okay. Some of these things we devote our lives to, whether or not we believe they are true. Some of these things are all that we have. The mere existence of some of these things contradicts with the possible existence of others. Some we justify, some we ignore, some we embrace, some we long for, some we can't touch, some we condemn, some we shake our heads or wag our tails at. We are debased and exalted by them. I don't have anything else to say about them now, other than to say 'there they are.' They're making snow angels on top of the trampoline.