Winter blasts on us the day after my birthday. Soft but quick flakes as I leave the gym, more in the King Kullen parking lot, to the climax of screeching air against our cheeks as we dodge the snow from building to building. I start to panic a bit, thinking of The Shining, thinking of how easily I feel trapped.
But we make ourselves warm. Killian's on windowsills and the opening chords to "Free Falling." Sunset burns over white hills. Orange pink yellow against tree silhouette and silver windmill lining.
Today the roads are snow rifts and I remember drifting through Cortland parking lots and roads, through upstate 81 to go north because only a whiteout would take me off that road. I was determined. Maybe I still am. It needs to be in the right way, though, whatever that means.
I lie on my bed briefly, eyes and mind bouncing, and see my name on the door sign. I look at the tight curls of a-n-a in that festive font and think that they ought to be looser, ought to be more like a river dancing.