on the subject of destruction.

First, a step in the right direction.
Second, a word, dropped into the right ears.
Third, an hour spent in the wrong company.
Fourth, a choice turn of phrase, spoken in righteous anger.
Fifth, a brief look into the abyss.
Sixth, we spar. The clash of horns is nothing compared to this.
Seventh, a parting. Quiet comes.
Eighth, tenative reaching, private thoughts made public.
Ninth, reactive forces churning.
Tenth, a moment of silence.
Eleventh, a space in which there should be noise, but there is only stillness.
Twelfth, the final moment comes and there is nothing left but white noise.

Rosemary for remembrance.

Two years of having a empty space where she used to be curled on my lap.

Two years of sudden blank-eyed tears when I remember those last moments.
they don't last as long anymore, just a few moments until control sets in again, but still, they fall.

In my world, death finds snow waiting.

Find me a definition for 'delicious'!

Well, the eventual answer to that was a cool drink of water when you're very, very thirsty, but the response I'd give you right now is different. At this moment, I'd send you out to a bakery on an island and feed you a winter apple cream tart.

Well, it would have to wait until tomorrow, because they're closed right now, but you get the point of the idea.

The wind in my hair cleansed my mind and the headphones in my ears blasted out what was left after that. I'm (slightly) reborn!

Next week on As Alasanon Churns--Butter, and Its Various Uses In Unusual Situations.