Snow

Snow. The crystal perfection knitted into manna, the sound softening blanket and the immediate corruption. The slush. The piles. The snowdrifts. Up to your thigh! Up to your eye! Over our heads in an afghan avalanche. The snows of Kilimanjaro. Every time it snows some credulous fool stops believing in global warming, but the caps are still melting, people. We have the technology to monitor these things. There are men in the House and Senate who know damn well the earth is getting hotter but they pander to the ignorant because they want to keep riding around in limousines. Every time they deny the rising temperatures it gets a little hotter in hell.

Meanwhile it’s snowing. A little fluff on the rails and the whole city grinds to a halt. Kids should have snow days every day, much nicer on the trains. Let them sleep in and go when their biological clocks say go, then we can see less of them, the spoiled monsters.

I wonder if I’m going to get to go home early. I wonder if I’m going to be snowed in. I’m so damned sleepy I could wrap myself up in a blanket of snow and sleep for a thousand years. When they thawed me out I was a caveman living in a technological wonderland, the last civilized being living in a scorched desert planet, overrun by savages.

Pretty pretty snow.

–Dan Kilian

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Last Trip To the Well

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