"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it."
With global warming looming ominous I revel in the snow gently drifting through the wind. My mind pregnant with logic. The lingering effects of an energy drink still coursing through the vast tracks of my circulatory system. I first take the counterproductive yet predictable approach of thinking my brain to a stop. Still the wheels spin into the earth, digging deeper and getting progressively nowhere. Still, the passing thought of the earth channels my energies deep into its core. Still is what I become. In my mind's eye my legs are tree trunks cycling lifeblood between me and the soil. Wind ruffles my hair, now a sweeping network of leaves that claw at the sky in gentle desperation. A falcon's cry pierces through the gale. I am almost totally given over to her, who is as always the very definition of maternal. Now is a happy place.
...
But who wants to hear that shit? Inquiring minds want the sexy now. They want the now where I'm scoring crack downtown. Nowhere else to smoke it, I pass rocks out to the local crackheads so that they'll watch for the police as I load up a glass pipe stuffed with brillo. Also, it keeps them from joining together and jumping my ass. They're happy - I get to keep my money and not get the shit kicked out of me. It only placates them for a time. As I leave one of them gets me in a choke-hold from behind while the others hold my arms and rifle through my pockets. Good thing I smoked most of the shit, but still they are rewarded with a paltry couple of dollars. "Fuck you!" I creatively scream after them as they run; one has the decency to toss my pillaged wallet over his shoulder. Einstein once define insanity as doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. Apparently I am insane; I will be back here tomorrow. Now is always a happy place.
...
The flakes are a flurry of pink and white leaving cascades of perfume in their wake. It is delicious. The warmth of spring is still delicate, a companion to the sensation that each petal creates as it collides with my cheek. The blossoms drop to the ground and herald my homecoming. Spring snow. Now is a happy place.