futurebird's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- None of that stuff reached me. The air stood still in the forest today: so cold that the light passed right through it, rigid beams of winter light. Not a single grain of dust dared to hover in the wind. My view was unobstructed. Running on a bright January day like this one I was like a ray of sunlight passing through crystal. The joy thumping in my breast spanning out pan-wild. I was suddenly a multicoloured archway: a full spectrum of light hurtling through space. I couldn't hear the cars or see the road dirt and salt collecting on their rusty fenders. I didn�t see the hungry sick squirrel, dizzy and near death, weaving his way through the tress as the fur fell off in clumps. No it was perfect. None of that stuff reached me. It could have been the endorphins. It could have been my empty belly. But I�d like to think it was the light. We can cook up endorphins in a laboratory. But, light like that comes only from the biggest brightest star. The shadows were hard. The beams were direct. Where the shadows crept they crept dark as night. Winter is a season of absolutes. There are no soft shady corners. Only day and night: white snow screaming sunlight or bottomless dark spaces casting the image of trees on the ground and my body as I passed by. Now and then I wish winter would never end. I�ll run too Alaska. I think sometimes. But that�s a long way, even for a girl who thinks she was spit out by the sun. I wonder if when it died it put it�s tail over its head? or did it just stop mid-step to wait for the thaw when the bones will be cleaned white? But why think of that? When there is all of january to come? 04:08:43 - 2001-01-11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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