Solstice Eve

A big fat juicy layer of snow is so oceanic.

I drench myself in the silence and maneuver through waves of sensation, tromping high, skidding up terrain that would normally be unnavigable, but navigable with the temporary pavement of snow. A relief in the same way rain relieves, only this time with a more memorable impression. I dwell in the relief in its paused, semi permanent form, sculpting it around my joy, noting the effects. I march, up a hill and to a clearing, cruise into a thick cool easy chair created by some place in between dream and reality, stare at the opaque sky with the sun setting behind somewhere, plant my palms face up at shoulder level, elbows bent. Sink. Receive. Stand, sing, walk in a path around my imprint in a spiral until the installation is 30 feet in diameter. Suddenly my bedroom is much larger than usual, and I sing at the top of my lungs, claiming my space. I am a snow angel, and I know what it feels like to fly like one. I dwell in the swells. I find hard earth again, and return through a drift of twinkling flurries and streetlamp-lit light. I sound, sparkle, land.