I let the writing go. And it does. Then I wonder where it’s gone and go looking.
Stopping to clean snow from my glasses I stand for a long time. Spaced out. Half thoughts, distant crow song and things I want to remember come and go. Across the bay the island is a pale stain between the frozen lake and blank sky. Head down, pushing forward I feel the reel to reel unwinding of 16mm film. Black and white world through rapidly blinking eyes. My life walking in snowstorms. Still images projected onto a painted brick wall. Whitespace without words. A kid in a snowsuit waving at the future.