Place

It’s beautiful in New Jersey this morning. I don’t feel ready to go back to Texas this soon. But I am. Tomorrow.

Yesterday, the temps were high here. And the only layer I needed was a fleece sweater on top of my tshirt. I got rid of some of the ice at the end of the driveway. I chopped it with a shovel. And the metal tip made loud clanking noises against the black top underneath.

Today it’s colder. And there is a firm layer of ice on top of the high snow in the yard. And if you’re careful you can walk along on top of it. You can walk on the cold, cold water. And you feel high and strange being on top of the snow like that. And you feel great and you think you’re doing it right, because you are. But occassionally you step too hard and you sink through.

And you think, Crap, I did that one wrong.

Or maybe it really has nothing to do with you or how you step. Maybe it’s just the way the ice is in that one spot. The way the sun is shining on it. It’s just weak there. You could have guessed better, you reckon. You could have thought longer about where you stepped. But ultimately you had to step somewhere. You chose that spot. And that’s really it.

You’re just in the place you are, when you are. And the things happen. And when you step through the ice, you pull your foot out and step again somewhere else. And you repeat. And you keep moving. Until you stop for a bit. And when you do, then you just be in that place, goddammit. With all your fucking strength. You just keep being the shit out of it.