it was quarter past five. this day. i was wearing a blue scarf. the pigeons had landed with their feet out and their bodies leaning backward on the roof and were escaping in through the opening, first through the snow and then in through the structure itself. he was arriving soon. the children were at home on the couch, their bodies warm, their femurs a certain length, their mouths held unthinking and open as they breathed. i was making my way to the forest. the snow was deep and it would be work but welcome work for my body. it would never happen this way again.
