The quarter is ending in a storm. The loose ends are like lengths of rope flailing about in the wind. I have to chase them down and tie them to something. Catch one in one hand, one in the other, keep hold of those two while reaching for the next with my teeth . . .
I can't wait to go on vacation. Then hopefully the only storms I have to deal with are the real kind. Maybe there will be a big, peaceful snow storm. I'll be sitting inside by the fire, watching big flakes flutter and spray against the window. And the next day I can go out in all my layers, the cold nipping at my cheeks, the sun shining, a white blanket of snow on the ground. When I see that, my first instinct is to dive in head first. And since this is a day-dream, that's just what I do. In my day dream, I roll and tunnel in the soft snow, and don't get cold or soaked.
Ahh . . . perfect ideas.
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