The sky is pretty, driving home. It's a nice day, for winter, that last part being the operative phrase because it may be nice, but it's still winter, and it's still kind of sad with all the skeleton trees and the bitter winds and echoing loneliness of the month. The sky is so blue, but summer seems like several lifetimes away on both sides, past and future. Time is a funny thing. I still can't figure it out.
The sky is pretty, driving home, white clouds threaded through the blue sky, but it's still freezing cold. We're both rubbing our hands to keep warm and it makes me think of that line in "Blood Bank" and winter all over again. "You said, ain't this just like the present / to be showing up like this?"
There's a lack of color in everything but the sky, and us -- red hands, raw, shaking. Red lips, cracked and dry. Hazy green-brown eyes, flicking left to right, past the steering wheel, out the window. I always say thank you, and goodbye. I should start saying happy birthday.
This winter has been a weird one. I remember back at the beginning of December, thinking it hadn't been that cold that early in a long time. And now it's February and school was canceled today again because of a chance of ice. So far we've had two weather delays and three snow days, and only actually one tiny baby instance of anything that remotely resembles snow. This morning: absolutely nothing. But I'm not going to complain too much about a day off. I can't remember the last time I had five whole days of school in a row, which, you know, is kind of fitting for the whole second semester senior thing.
