anti:freeze

Freezing rain fell on Portland last week, tinkling and crackling as it landed on sidewalks, lodging deep in the teeth of exposed zippers, poking umbrellas. It glazed the sidewalks smoothly at first - like donuts. But the textures transformed as the freezing droplets continued to build up. One street corner was rippled like old glass - the kind that warped my Grandma Ashline's lawn as I stared out her living room window, the kind I always love in old Victorians or churches. Glass is liquid after all. I like to think ice is, too, since it is constantly on the verge of melting away - constantly becoming liquid in our minds. Which makes it so.

When I walked several blocks to the grocery store, my legs remembered twenty-five winters in Iowa. Winter muscles. Knees bent slightly. Quads tight. Core strong. And I was no longer walking, but shuffling. Snowshoed in my New Balance trail runners.

The best part is that it wasn't even cold. Right on the line between freezing and melting. Like glass.

There is also new writing on evidentiary: alchemy today.