Salt and Dust

A terrible headache has come over me - what a sordid little expression - how is it that such pain comes over one, like a morbid pall, gently and effortlessly, and then settles on my sorry forehead. All sound and smells nauseate me. The coffee this morning did me no good. My heartbeat is off-kilter and the slightest oddities erect question marks, like signposts impaling good judgement and common sense. I went outside, after some argument, to run errands and pursue the palpitations to their limit, where I would leave them, set them adrift, so to speak. Indeed, the fresh air was good. Outside, past the sentry of coniferous trees, atop an artificial hill of snow - piled up to allow room aplenty for routine - were six or seven kids wrestling and playing, sending each other down in the snow. I smiled at them. How I wished I could enjoy their youthful pleasures. In fact, that reminds me of the other day, when I wanted to pick up the snow in my gloves, while waiting for the bus. But I didn't, hesitated and declined, because of the other eyes wandering so close to me. Anyway, when I returned from the store, I was greeted by a lone orange outside my door. I was perplexed. I felt like laughing, but I was also confused and slightly taken aback by this random gesture. I attributed it to one of the kids on the floor, maybe little Mathilda, so christened by Bryan on his recent visit. I kicked the orange and it rolled sideways and back towards the elevator. I couldn't leave it there. So I stooped and grabbed the orange, soft to touch, ripe, too ripe

I looked around the culprit was hidden, maybe still there, staring at me from across the hallway through a peephole, designed for secrecy. In any case, I opened the door and nausea and the headache and infirmities and the all too odious habits, came rushing back, knocking me off my feet. Leaving me lying in salt residues. With an orange in my hand.

The way a crow

Shook down on me

The dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.

- Robert Frost