can i find the candle of thought to light your name?

the sidewalks are bleached white by the salt, hard and opaque under the late afternoon sun. i imagine that, were they viewed from high enough, they might resemble a disjointed skeleton, breaking off abruptly, twisting unnaturally through long areas of browns, blacks and deep greens, splashed about through stark stretches of deep colour.

he wouldn't dare admit it, and i'm sure he'll show his strength once more, but my skeleton, snaking through this flesh in a slightly more ordered manner than the bones of the roadways tells me that old man winter has lost his grip. there's a touch of something in the sun, a lack of soemthing in the wind, the sound of something just outside the range of perception that points toward the possibility of earlier sunrises, later sunsets, birkenstocks, and barbeques.

i can never decide if march is actually a season of shutting down or waking up.

the possibility of a hyacinth in the near future is quite likely.