Milk

I glance out the window over the morning snow. It's a little warmer in colour. I feel Spring around the corner and my longing for nutty squirrels and woodpeckers fills my breath as I inhale. Upon exhale I taste the cold white milk on my tongue and around the smooth enamel of my teeth. It trickles down my throat and my belly is full of words; tattered February volumes of information, paragraphs, nonsense and big stories. I don't want to leave this moment of reflection. It's antique and familiar and loving. Safe in my windowsill. Safe in your love.




Is this not the most beautiful photograph you've ever seen?