A hand reaches down, grabs a handful and throws it into my open mouth.
Cold. A crunchy, nearly sticky feeling. A taste like iron. Like blood.
The taste of snow is mostly the food residue and slime and bacteria and dead cells on your tongue.
I can still see every moment of that day. Play. Rewind. Slow motion. It’s all there, a movie, locked in my head for the rest of my life.
It snowed today. When I saw the first snowflakes, this morning, sitting in my car, I felt a shiver. Since then the tape keeps playing. Keeps rewinding. Keeps playing. Continue reading