Chris Miller

     I think the snow hurts.  It sure does look sick.  I peered out the dusty glass of the Administration Building.  A cold shiver ran my spine.  The green fell away from my perch in a circle of shut in snow.  Trees corralled it in.  A breeze waved the tree´s arms in warning. Crows watched and waited. Their eyes gleamed.  Cement closed the circle. There simply was no escape.  I picked my discarded jacket to put it back on.  I turned away form the window.  It sure didn´t always look like this.    
     The sky didn´t know whether or not to shine today.  First it did, then it didn´t. Yesterday it didn´t.  Yesterday the clouds had so much fun.  Yesterday the sweet clouds gave beautiful bounty to our earth of sugar, in tons, dropped upon the surface.  Yesterday it snowed five inches.  But, well, that was yesterday.
     Yesterday a set of foot prints meandered its way across the white plane.  Another set of prints was hiding behind a tree, eyes on his prize.   The innocent tracks danced in the snow.  The prints went left. The prints went right.  Twirl and slide, after which glide. A spin of superb grace finally annoyed the hidden aggressor.   The air was sharp.   Surely the prints behind the tree scooped up two handfuls of snow and packed them together into a projectile of destruction.   Then again snow compacted into future shrapnel.  Teeth sparkled through a sick smile.  The snicker echoed in that sad light.  The prints hopping with joy hesitated.  Stopped.  And slowly turned about.  The wind up...
     Eyes met.
     and the pitch.  Strike called on the left cheek.  One man down.
     "You´re toast!  Here it comes".  Fleet feet flew, bearing down on the struggling target.  Closer.  Closer.  
     Grace then turned to speed. Up. Cut right and go hard.  Gotta get ammo.  The incoming tracks ran the predicted path with too much nerve.  Too much.  Speed is not traction.  The left foot planted, or tried.   The tracks skidded to tear the snow.   Steam rose from the scar in the earth.  Then a whap. Innocence, now revenge.  Whip;  smack! Another  ball of tightly packed snow scraped from this ground exploded on a shoulder. The victim came back!  Speed traced an arching attack run in the snow, then leaped. Bodies slid across the ground, scrapping for position. Snow flew, ground up nostrils. Bile dripped and sloshed to the ground.  Hearts pounded, pounded.  Agility violated the aggressor. Undies were frozen through.  
     Laughing, bodies pushed apart.  Two light souls sat up.  One cracked a joke. The other laughed.  They walked off the green to the dorm.  They had to put on dry clothes.  
     Later a bunch of people streamed onto the green, arms raised in triumph.  Two people ran over to the edge of the side walk.  They slowed, arms swung around at their sides.  The two started to pack the snow together into a ball.  They put the ball on the ground and rolled it.  It picked up snow and grew.  Slowly they rolled the snowball around the green.  Bigger and bigger it got, leaving a trail of naked grass.  The foot prints would push the snowball straight for 40 feet, then double back beside the original track. The ball got larger.  The grass got barer.
      "How´s yours coming?"   
     "Great!"
     "Ours is gonna rock your world."
     The other two groups of friends scarred the snow in the same fashion.  
     The naked grass screamed "REBELLION!"  to the snow.  The people rolled the snow balls around till they were all fairly big, and then wheeled them all into the center. One was called Goliath.  Another was Henry.  The third was Tim. Henry got put on Goliath.  They put Tim on top.  One pushed a carrot in Tim.  Two pine cones provided vision.  They gave Tim a scarf for warmth and a top hat to boot.  Laughter echoed across the snow.  
     I am the grass.  There is something on top of me.  It squashes me. It is cold.  It is dark here.  Other grass can see my burden.  It is shiny white, but rittled with chunks of mine ancestors.  They died so it could have life.  I now support this life.  This life will not last.  It is melting on me.  It drips in a constant flow.  It makes the ground soft and wet, wet but weak.  The water takes away my soil.  My soil, my support, my life blood.  I wish to have it back.  
     I rolled my pencil between my fingers.  If I only didn´t have to write this crap...  I wished I had time to make a snow man.
     That night even the moon stayed home.  The trees were cold.  I looked out my mod window into court yard.  There seamed to be nothing going on that night.  Oh! Someone was running to a door.  My eyes followed.  The door banged.  Huh, it was nice to hear something other than the heater.   The heater hummed the whole night.  My roommate and I have sleeping bags.  When the temperature really drops, we get them out.  We unzip them and throw them on top of our beds, on top of all the covers.  Then we can stay warm, as long as the sleeping bags don´t fall off at night.  I looked out again.
Sometimes I think about the Bahamas, or maybe just Florida.  Anything.  How about just seventy degrees here at Bethel?  The curtain fell back.      
     First a left, then right.  Cold toes crossed the tundra, my toes.  Left, right.  Snow fell out of the pine and thumped on the ground.  My eyes rose from the ground.  I didn´t want any to fall on my head.  My eyes circled, and returned down.  Left, then right.  I keep going.  The slush was frozen now.  It was slick.  
     "Watch your step," I tell myself.  If you fall and hurt something, the next person to come along these parts will be a while.  Brrr.  The wind slapped my exposed face. Good thing I wore a warm coat.        
     The next day, well that´s today.  The sun was high at noon.  Rays of heat beat down the snow.  Streams of water trickled onto the sidewalks, carrying some of the dirt from the grass.  It collected into a puddle.  Then some of the murky liquid escaped out of the other side of the puddle down the tiny stream. It swirled, and disappeared in the slat. I watched it go away.  
     The creek roared.  Drain pipes spouted the water into the mayhem.  The creak was on the move.  It teased the roots of trees, rather made them sore from the friction.  It stole soil away and ran under the bridge.  It ran fast, away from the scene of the crime.  I am speed.  I am the wind. I get away.  
     Sand Creak collected the streams and calmed them down.  Mother touches her children, and soothes.  Strong banks keep the waters in line.  There is a log that fell across the creek.  The water built up, and goes right over top of the log.  The water drops go forward together.   They are happy, and go further, farther, being stronger.
     The thing is, the sun didn´t stay out all day.  It ran away and hid.  I had to walk to
class in this droopy weather.   The wind sucks, the heat from your body and laughs.  I can´t see very far into the distance.  I can see tree branches, long and thin.  They grow in many directions.  They break easily.  But these branches are connected by limbs, limbs held together by larger ones.  These are all held up by the thick trunk.  The trunk is held up by the roots.  The roots try to hold the down the soil.  
     Some people walked in the mud, then on the snow.  Splosh.  I just stepped in a pile of slush.  It splatted away.  It was gunky.  My feet got wet walking to class.  I squeaked all the way up the wooden stairs. Squeak. Squeak.  Squeak.   I like wet feet.  
     From this window, you can usually see pretty far, but not today.  I hate clouds.  I look back down at the snow, or what was left.  There usually never is this much snow in Kansas.  Can I even call it snow now?  No.  It looks pretty bad.  It looks gorse.  Lots of people had fun here, but...  Who wants to play in the mud?  It is just not the same snow that fell here yesterday.  I can feel its pain.
     Sand Creek flows away.  It remains a mystery to me yet, but somehow the water that flows from Sand Creek finds friends in the Missouri River.  From there the power is harnessed. It carves its way to the mighty Mississippi.  Each drop of water counts.  Each interacts with the others.  Each has the power to destroy, but has the power to create.  It flows into the ocean. The dark blue abyss envelops the water.  It takes it in, and provides comfort.  
     The cold water sinks downward.  I falls into a greater pressure.  It keeps to the mysteries of the deep.  Never to come back again.  
     The warmer water rises up.  Only some reaches the top.  And with a warm sun, the same destructive sun, it rises from its present form.  Gone is the body of the water but
not the soul that carries it into the sky.  The sky can be blue.  Blue that the water is jealous of.    The souls are pure in white.  They see all from their high view.  They move in unison across the land.  They twirl in bliss.  White souls harden to black.  Black souls can burst the sky with light.  The bliss speeds up.  Energy rises, and the bliss transforms. The bliss creates.
     Tomorrow the sun came back out.  It smiled its friendly smile.  The thing is, the snow didn´t like this smile.  I did.  The rays came down and hugged me as I walked around by the green.  The grass was dried out.  I saw an object fly toward me.  I heard my name.  I snapped out...  
     My arm snapped out.  I caught the Frisbee.  My eyes scanned the crowd on the green.  Dave wanted a long one.  I took a step, wound up.  Launch.  Dave ran. Flight 713 was in the air, gaining altitude.  Next stop, Dave Allan.  He was moving.  His eyes on the prize.  He slowed.  The disk hung.  He leaped up, right hand open.  Grab. He came back down cradling the disk.  Score.   
     "DISK!"  We gave it back with some speed.  They caught it.  My man wore a tie-dyed shirt, and paint stained shorts that fit too tight.   I approached him with a grin.  He ignored my fun. He caught disk.  I got in his face, hard.  He looked left, then right.  He turned, ducked under my arm and threw.   Jack rabbits go fast.  So did he.  I had to run fast.  I strained to catch up.  My legs didn´t touch the ground.  I  pumped.
     "UP!"  That means it is a long one.  I was the only guy back to stop this one.  The tie-dyed shirt cut hard right.  I chewed on his heals.  My head whipped around, eyes wide.  There it was! We leaped.  Ribs jarred ribs.  His shirt slicked my arm, sweaty.  The tongue curled in anticipation.  Tendons stretched to the outer most limits.  NOW!  My
arm swung wild, hoping to get a piece of it.  Ting.  The disk turned in the air.  It looked for a peaceful place to land, open grass, over there.  It came down.   It slid on the ground. Down the hill rolled.  Slow now.  It rolled onto the cement in front of the Administration building.  It kept rolling.   It wobbled.  Wiggled.  Twirled.  It Twirled in a circle around again and again.  Twirl, whirl, and splat.  It is flat.         
     Sometimes, if the weather is perfect, it snows straight down.  This happens more often north of here.  Way north, like Alaska, or upstate New York.  The flakes float forever, and yet they land sometime.  You really can´t tell when, but they collect.  After a while there is snow stacked up to your ankle, or maybe your knee.  I like that.   I wish I had a cabin somewhere north.  That would be nice.  I would love to look out the window then.  I like to watch.  I like to go on walks in the woods.  My feet don´t touch the ground.  I don´t really touch anything.  
     I like to listen to the still air, listen to for what is not really there.  The snow can be pure.  The sky is as blue as the deep water.  The trees emerge from this earth reaching for the sky.  Somehow, the deeper the roots grow into this earth, the higher the branches can reach into the sky, grabbing for more.  The trees pull the sky and the earth together. The earth is right here, and there.  It sucks me in.  Watch the clouds dance in the trees, or run across the sky.  If  I´m lucky, a bluejay might fly by.