Strapped To The Seat, Clinging For Dear Life

I skid on ice on the way home from the end of an era.

All the sudden I lost control and spun around, the world twirling like a child pulling the streamers of the Maypole.

The brakes failed, my steering locked.

Flashing before my eyes. Images of a life not quite my own.

Heliotrope in the moonlit night, in a quiet town in New Hampshire.

I jolt back to reality as my wheel clicks back into place. The skid marks in the snow are the only reminder (but they will be gone in the morning).

Faintly, I can still smell the heliotrope, fresh and sweet gracing my senses.

My breath freezes in the brisk night air. The windows are down and the snow picks up (washing away the proof of my troubles).

The world becomes whitewashed in a matter of minutes. It rids the night from my head, making it impossible to remember the accident.

The ice will melt and my memory will thaw one day.