SOMETIMES NOTHING IS A CLEVER THING TO SAY
Overnight, all the water in the wind made the transition directly to the vapor phase, locking on as if the frost and fog spirits had taken a high-pressure hose and sprayed white flocked velvet on the southwest side of everything up on the hill. The fog hugs every contour and hides the world. The hoarfrost is half an inch thick, it lopsides the trees with white icing. Everything is suddenly blooming again…with frost flowers, the crystalline structures built on suspended and subliminated vapor. The trees have all aged and grown beards and ghostly white skeletal fluff. I come home to...