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At 1:00 I found myself taking out a jacket, thinking about a hat, putting on my boots. Without ever deciding to, I took myself for a walk.
I didn't walk far, or fast. Just out a half a mile, to a clearing and a view. There was something scary about making loud footsteps in thick snow in the forest in the night; I stopped every so often and looked and listened and scanned the shadows on the ice. The trees were bare, the moon was full — the shadows were interesting. I never saw anything. I turned around and came back.
There was a high mound of snow at the end of the drive. I stood atop it, and stared at the moon; it burned its face upon my eye. I walked down and went inside.
March 18, 2003 1:53 AM
I really like this piece as an item of disconnected writing, never mind its context.
Posted by dan on March 18, 2003 6:34 PM
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