12.09.2002 - 4:29 p.m.

The roadside trees are shedding ice. Somewhere in the way the poor branches bow down, something in the sudden slide, the slow-motion plummet, somewhere in the brittle crash onto the pavement and the sparkling cloud of pulverized crystals, I think there must be a metaphor that knows how I can feel the downward tug, but never quite manage to let go.

But I like the way the branches pop up afterwards, like they're laughing, like part of a dance.

It is a gift, to not understand what goes on at your feet.

-stonebridge

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