amazingturtles

Along the lake in the pockets and valleys of sand where there are tough dry reeds growing among small yellow flowers. With the iridescent green weevils that crawl over red sandstone and pause, alert and longing. Under the rust of the half buried fence set in crumbling concrete, where a gull is waiting for the wind to change. And always, always in the waves, when they're bitter cold in the brief spring and when they roll under ice under our feet together here. I want to be here with you when the beach finally grows old and washes away.

It's all right. There's a winter storm warning, eight to twelve inches for the night and more and more for the day to come but it's all right, it's all right here, with a kerosene stove and matches and the solid comfort of canned goods. Here we are in the stretch of a week between Christmas and the new year, here we are in the long blank warmth of no time at all, waiting as sunlight fades, turning yellow as the pages of an old friendly book. It's all right to be here in the threat of endless snow and soft warmth of your hand in mine, where the ice on the window melts and freezes in streaks that mingle together and here, this place right now,