One by one, the tensions lifted from every sinew in my worn and beaten body. Frame by frame, the blizzard of snow and ice abated, permitting crushed silence in a desolate eye. I look across the landscape hoping to find a safe place to land, far away from twisted trees and rocks and holes. There was a time, before I was born, when I was stricken to the ground as well. Now I linger in many places. I am the small delicate hand of a newborn, no longer pulling my own hair.

 





ae





Chupa minha pica pichu, chupa minha pica pintu


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