Tuesday, March 05, 2013


Biking in fickle weather, the rain teased into snow, then back again, as the temperature dances with zero.  I pass an old woman, who must be close to one hundred, listing into the wind.  The shape her body takes due to her age works well to protect her face from the wet. This snowy day, and every other snowy day, is given great importance.   I smile at her as I pass and wonder, Grandmother, will you be around to welcome the snows next year? 

Later, the wind is still high and I hear it clash against the tops of bamboo in a sound like waves breaking.  I can hear the clacks and groans from where I sit, but their trunks are unmoving as seen through the low window.  Nearly a century old themselves, they hold their ground unwavering, faces turned proudly toward the gale.  They ain't goin' nowhere.

On the turntable:  I Muvrini, "Imagina"

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