Our Endless Numbered Days

there are things that drift away, like our endless numbered days. autumn blew the quilt right off the perfect bed she made, and she has chosen to believe in those hymns her mother sings, sunday pulls its children from their piles of fallen leaves.


Its cold. Colder than Cold. Ice Cold. Siberia Cold. Literally. Our wind whips down from siberian plains, and freezes you to the core. I thought I knew the cold, and living in boone for so long I thought that we had become friends. As it turns out, I knew Cold's kid brother Chilly and his twin sister Breezy. I have now been fully introduced to the reckless sonofabitch Cold himself, and his wife Frigid. Even the snow here thinks that Cold is too cold for his own good. Because when it falls it doesnt even attempt to stick around, it flees into gutters and through every door crack it can find to get away from that icy bastard Cold and his mistress.

I have figured out that no matter where you are in the world, an hour or two of walking in the cold with a cup of coffee and some music will do both fantastic and utterly destructive things to your mind, while parts of your head will be breaking itself down, wondering why it is doing what its doing, what really were its motivations, how did it come to be somewhere so unfamiliar, somewhere so cold, with no woodstove to sit next to. Yet the other part of your mind will realize that the vanilla in your coffee has never tasted so much like home, that your jacket has never been more comfortable, the the music in your head never been more beautiful, and how every pile of leaves on the ground looks like one you played in before when you were younger. Somehow its this part of your brain that is making you smile and lift your head while you're walking in the face of that Bastard Cold, while everyone else has their head bowed and face covered. Its this part of your brain that is causing your footsteps to act more like dance moves, and your stride meets that of your music. Your brain balances emotions like a tray of drinks at a salsa bar. You weave through gaps in the room swaying just enough to make things interesting, but fluid enough to not spill a drop. Its this balance that lets you notice that across the room the girl in the red dress just smiled at you.

mabey its not that cold after all.

After all I'm just a boy with a coin.