a rock hit my windshield on my commute home from work yesterday–
i was deep in thought about something far away, i don’t even remember now–
at the moment: i flinched.
this morning, driving back to work–
noticing the new, deep, wound in the glass:
i cried — big, hot, tears.
walking down the mountain to the office,
i stepped on a rock–
i picked up that rock–
the second offending rock in twelve hours:
and threw it in the snow.
i did not flinch.