Long Exposure

"Before I open my eyes I hear the river, and I know that I'm waking up in his bed. Not yet dawn, but I can tell that it's near by the way I can just make out the shape of the chair where our clothes are piled, the long, inky band that must be one of my stockings. Before I knew Sam I would have thought, it's dark, but now I see the shades of it. Know that if I keep my eyes on it that chair will begin to emerge, slowly but ever steadily, until it is finally just there, the thing that it always was. I should get up; I should be gone before there's anyone about to see me carefully closing the back door. But it's warm in his bed, there's the sound of the river and the sound of his breath, and I turn and curl myself around him, my cheek on the smooth skin of his back, I breathe in the smell of him and all that is more important than what anyone might say." Page 123, The Boys in the Trees by Mary Swan.

I am here again, the place where snowflakes fall softly in the sunny mornings, icy lumpy streets where cars slide past as I wait for the bus. I haven't seen the mountains yet, the icy crystals have shielded them from me- much to my disappointment. I have the time now, my time in this frozen city by the mountains.

I find stories in the news touching me in ways I am surprised by, things I've never experienced bringing stinging tears to my eyes for brief moments. My eyes are otherwise dry, between the arid Prairie atmosphere and the cold blasts of wind. The world is small. I know this time won't last, and simultaneously I want January to come right away or not at all.