I must have slept.
I don't know how I did.
The car had stopped
I could feel the draft from the open door.
Pine trees and wood smoke filled my mind.
There was water too,
Like the sound a creek makes
When it thinks no one is listening.
'Wake the fuck up cunt.'
He lifted me up, and the blanket
Dropped to the ground.
I stared passed him,
Through the hair covering my face.
It was snowing.
Beautiful.
Dawn's light approached
Early on the horizon;
Silhouetting the snow-covered trees.
His house was built on two stories,
Partially bricked with a white siding
And large upper deck.
There was lots of firewood
And a red windmill.
I wasn't dreaming.
It turned, slowly, almost reluctantly;
Like it wanted time to stop.
Like it didn't want the next four days
To start unwinding.
But I didn't mind,
I wanted it to turn.
Needed to lose myself in its circles.
I was on his shoulder in an instant,
Upside down with my head against his back.
I watched his deep boot prints appear behind me,
One after another; as if made by a ghost.
I always liked the sound of footfalls in the snow.
'Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind.'
~Bergman, Legrand
