There is snow come up as I have told the story of my name. Snow and small smacks of hail on the roof of this little house.
I went then I came back then I went then I came back again. In going I came and in coming I went. In that way I didn’t need to see an inch of my road and might as well have took out my own eyes. But here they still are — candy jellies, each afloat, each in its own glass jar.