Now is not the time to rush into darkness. I wait in my room and reread a poem I've never fully forgotten or remembered.The day is here now, revealed not by bright color but by infinite shades of grey -- the snow settled on my neighbor's roof, woodsmoke curling skyward, frost trying to hold back the eager buds of spring.
That tiny bit of color, there despite the snow, the frost, the grey despair.
Blood is shaking my heart -- red, not grey, living, not dead. By this, and this only, we exist.
I brush snow from the saddle. It is brighter now, the world containing The Waste Land is more than a wasteland.
I undo the lock, hop on my bike and leave behind an empty room.
Keep 'em rolling,
Kent "Mountain Turtle" Peterson
Issaquah WA USA