There is grass . . .

. . . where I once made the angels in the snow, one for me and one for you. The snow held our twin forms until the sun dissolved their lines and new snow filled the places my body had carved out.

This evening I look at the grass and see what is no longer there. And I wonder if I lie down will I be able to fit myself within the past's invisible lines? It would be one way of going back.

This kind of sorrow . . .

. . . resides deep below the earth where no water runs.

Maybe I should plead for an earthquake.

I smile when . . .

. . . I hear the phrases companies require their employees to say either in the form of a salutation or valediction. (I think I smile because of the obvious word choice or wordplay and because I'm no actor and delivering those preset lines would be difficult.)

When a McDonald's order taker asks me, "What can I make for you?" my inner smile is huge and I think, Make? Nothing.

The other day I took my niece to the Disney Store, and the closing there was, "Have a magical day!" Why thank you, I will.

And at See's Candies, after they've greeted you with a free chocolate and you've made your purchase: "Come and see us again!" Thanks, I think I will, mostly for the sweet valediction and the cherry chocolate.

Wouldn't it be nice . . .

. . . if, like a hermit crab outgrows its shell, we outgrew our troubles?

Only then wouldn't we discover that we had taken up residence in a new, roomier shell, housing even larger or more numerous problems?

Maybe we should try shrinking from our troubles instead. But the shirking and getting smaller is no way to live. We learn that quite clearly from the Grinch's and Ebenezer's hearts. They had shrunk so small that the characters were unable to live alive; they were living dead.

So maybe we should, like the hermit crab, welcome bigger shells, roomier digs, and the new challenges that more space brings.

Outside . . .

. . . the sun is bright in the sky. I position myself in its rays so that I can feel its warmth. The rest of me remains as cold as this chilled day.

Today's score is . . .

. . . Me: 7, Universe: 567,433,124,719,806.

Must have been boring to watch the match-up.

I don't think there is a register of sadness lower than this. And yet I know that there must be. There are people dealing with "somethings" greater than anything I am worrying over.

I could run a city on the currency of my sorrow. What irony! A blob on the floor supplying the energy for thousands. (And for the record, I don't know how to change it.)

I am the hollow of . . .

. . . those cheap chocolate Easter bunnies. It's the shell that frames the emptiness inside.

Melt me down and there is nothing of worth there either, just waxy goo.