Earlier today, the wind whipped the freshly fallen snow up like a wave and it crashed on the road. Schools are closed and the streets remain mostly empty. Except for the few people driving around with probably no place to go. I walked to the mailbox just as the clouds started to move away and a sun filtered through the evergreen and think of Antarctica. That's not what Antarctica is like; it is more barren, more open, more wild. It's a place like Mars or the Moon, that feeling of awe and discovery.
I often think about what it would feel like to go to the Moon. Standing there looking at Earth the same way I stand in the yard looking at the Moon. Sure there are pictures, but it never is the same is it? Unless you see it for yourself. I try to imagine what it would feel like stepping off a lunar vehicle. I'd like to take off a glove just to feel the vast coldness. But I also like both of my hands where they are.
In all this thinking, my mind is creating new worlds and recycling old people. When I dream at night they are there mixed together in some underground heated spring on the Mexican American border. They say that you only dream of people you have seen, even for a brief moment in passing. I would like to believe it but these are strangers. And often my dreams run like movies. I am more of a passenger. Sometimes, I am the lead. Sometimes, these dreams tumble together and it finds its way on paper.
I can't help but think of an apocalypse. There's fascination there as well. The people that survive. I like to believe I am one of those people. There's a lot of untouched universe out there and on Earth. And I remember I am just a cosmic spec.
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