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super subtle spring pt 1

In 100, by Nora on March 10, 2021 at 11:15 am

i’ve sort of come around to spring. i used to hate having to wait, when all i wanted was to sweat through my linens and be out all day and all humid-limpid night. after the great slow down, the great blanket of darkness, the great retreat: the achingly-slow putting on speed. watery sunlight weak and shy, almost blushing with modesty. tepid or bleak or trying. cruel gusts of wind piercing through your hopeful wardrobe selections. pallid feet unsocked too soon. make up your fucking mind, ok. it took years to see that slowly, for my vision to encompass glacial-pace change.

like spring like water

In 100, by Nora on February 14, 2021 at 1:39 pm

like spring the glisten thawing, building, slowly gathering speed, cresting, not an instant flash-change

like water flowing down from snowed peaks, solid to liquid, fluid, filling spaces

like water gathering its bits into a wave imperceptibly

not like spring: my cold heart thaws. not like water: drawing breathing after being underwater

sun-limning life, not fundamentally changing or fixing it, its form sublimating, sublime

what is there like this? can this be metaphor-stretched from nature?

and ice is not the enemy: delicate brittle-hard lace tracing firm around air, the eye’s impression of diamond but the feel tender melting to the fingertip-touch

strange being the only one who stays on the road pt 4

In 100, by Nora on February 3, 2021 at 9:26 am

flash floods scatter the cars but i push through, finally some spanish radio, kissing ciudad juarez through el paso. the skies yawning, opening up endless, unblemished above honest workaday trucks and rolling scrubland. injury lawyer ads give way to corrugated steel and fences, tiny metal windmill, far off bluish mesa lines in arid-fuzzy air; alone but for a gentle highway patrol officer. then the largest never-worked-a-day-in-their-lives trucks, bulbous tanks, aggressively stickered, parking backwards. finally crossing into california, i’m back to the familiar self-congratulatory teslas, aggressive audis, and old mitsubishi trucks bursting with gardening gear, my roads. this is my stop.