Winter Wonderland, and no Alice in sight

Well, maybe one, but definitely no Chesire cats.

Anyway...
it snowed all day and the kids were drowning in snow and hot chocolate and I was snuggly and warm inside and lookin' so damn cute in my boots and tightblackwool sweater...
And then there was the guy with the Scottish accent and the guy with no teeth who kept attempting to play cupid for me (when really it's just not needed) and there was the artist.
His ragged and raw soul was stuffed clumsily into the shell of him,
tired eyes and gently absent smile.
The bronze sculpture of the woman holding John the Baptist's head nearly brought me to tears.
It was...worth its thousand words, and then some.
Her cheek bones and her eyes told a thousand page tale, between them.
And then he said, "I'll draw someone, who wants to be drawn?"
He wanted to draw me; I saw his eyes dart to me so slightly as others said they would love to be drawn.
"I will," I said.
And he came alive just a little and he went to get his sketchpad.
And I couldn't sit still, but finally I did, and he took the lines from across my face--the ones that tell the story of who I am--and he laid them across that paper with such grace and generosity!
The girl on that page is so lovely.
I thought of You while I sat staring at a spot on the wall, just behind the slowly filling ashtray.
So that You are there with me, and maybe that's why he didn't draw my eyes--
he wanted them downcast, because there is no artist alive who could capture the light of You in my eyes...



Such beauty, such talent.
It has inspired me to scramble once again toward my destiny.
Why
oh bloody fucking
why
do I insist on forgetting that life is not static, that MY life is not static??
Bah.
Ever-changing, dynamic, ephemeral--
yeah.

I am sooo sleepy....
I showered the smoke off and now my deliciously cozy bed is waiting for me, so off I go.