Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Time slips away on me. I don't wear a watch and don't have the calendar habit either. I'm sure it's one of those Yukon things. Time is more seasonal for me. There's the cold season which I handle as well as a bouquet of roses. And there's the hot season which I handle as well as Frosty the Snowman. And there are my seasons - spring and fall. I don't need to measure birthdays. My bones are cold - not the cold of the young after a skating party - the cold of someone whose fire is turning to embers. I suppose it could be revived - a few dry sticks and maybe a log - but I don't know where to find those things that could spark an ember into a flame - and I need the answer sooner rather than later.