a cup of coffee, black

Forced off the snow-packed road to avoid being sideswiped by a crazed speeding all-wheel driver, the speeder's blurred taillights dissolved into the night like synchronized red fireflies. It was so quiet in the darkest hour as I stood shivering in the road looking skyward at the tightening belt of Orion. It calmed my pounding heart imagining The Hunter was watching my backside.

Breaking the silence, a dog barked somewhere as though it had cornered an injured green Martian intruder, who only came in peace afterall, inside a dilapidated silo. I thought, for some strange reason, if I die here, now, what will happen to my tattered books? I hoped the pages would be turned in fond, gentle hands. And I hoped the dog's owner, staring down the sights of a double barrel, would try to communicate with the little green fella before he perished.

I'm safe now inside, the powdery swirling wind meticulously rolling and tossing snow chunks off the roof, protecting the fort, guarding me, holding a steaming cup in one hand, finger punching letters like Ben Franklin's unqualified apprentice with the other, and dreaming of warmer days.