Wake too early, always too early, always another time zone stretching itself in my lungs and the day still dark outside the window. Go from palm trees and Pacific Ocean waves to billowing pillows of pristine white snow, it's like three years of missed travel condensed into a week of whiplash. The boy at the car rental agency calls you pretty and gives you a bigger car, you slip him a twenty but not your number, careen into the wintry canyon like an armored truck on a rampage. The slight hint of sunburn on your cheeks, a tote bag full of sand, all that remains from the west coast is little clues of its appearance, how fleeting each adventure.
The words are too far away, you tread the same old waters, everything is mulch. But the sun rose over eastern mountains this morning, cavalcades of pinks and blues across drifts of pinks, it's another sunny day in the American West, the pearl is out here somewhere for the taking and soon, soon it will be time for you to reach for it again.
Soon, soon, all the things hidden in snow
will thaw.
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