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A Stormy Night Upon The Porch
My dirty bare feet are curled beneath me on a mildly damp patio bench. The porch shelters me from the night storm, but exposes me just enough that my arms are sprinkled with water. In a nearby pond, a duet of rippling chirps is sung back and forth between two frogs. They are hidden by the blackened sky until it is split by purple lighting.
Waking Up to Winter in the Mountains
I thought inside was quiet until I opened the sliding glass door of the log cabin balcony. When the seal was broken, inside became a turbulent detonation of noise—the clicks of the heater are an angry percussionist, the ambient hum of the humidifier a raging swarm of bees, the creak of the floorboards falling timber—compared to the sacred stillness of the snowy morning.
Jacuzzi in the Snow
Snow falls like shooting stars as I zoom through space. I blink as a flake hits my eye, and smile. Kingly pine trees scrape the night sky, holding out arms coated in white bouquets of snow, eclipsed by black branches. Returning my craning neck to a comfortable position, I sink deeper into the curve of my jacuzzi throne, letting my ice cold back submerge into contrasting tea-hot water. Snowflakes sting my exposed skin, a painful pleasure.