flourishing flurries of cold culmination.

The wind is picking up as new pressure systems plow through flatness that is minnesota. The nose sniffles with more then a few minutes outside, the crybabies have gone home and the bike racks are thinning like hair. The salt is held in pebbles on the concrete, a unheated bridge producing puddles into skid disasters. The speed of the flakes sting, and it makes me smile, because the coldness give a silence to the nights of the naked trees and the cars smokey tailpipes, nostalgic I feel the heat differential from my pumping thighs to the cold air wisping through denim and stopping upon the ever present long johns as they are affectionately called.

The weather is ever changing as is the climate of politics. I remember the good old day when we could differentiate the murder of people by displacing them from their homes and send them starving to march arcoss a country, and the systematic killing of peole by poisining them with gas and stuffing them into ovens as they starved to death.

Ethnic literatue is in, the western literature world loves a middle eastern author, britians best book, now the pulitzer prize. If only we cared as much outside of stories, in action, in the bill gates kind of way as i like to tell people.