One morning, a man woke from his sleep convinced that he felt the turning of the earth, that he could feel the exact sensation of heaving ahead, of air licking the fine hairs on his arms, of stars tickling his chest as he whisked through them. There, in the hanged-man silence, he imagined a certain direction of travel. South, in fact. He drew in a deep breath, the stars now stinging against his cheeks like flakes of snow, but warm. The man imagined that he might exhale forcefully enough to cause the world to stop moving. But that is not what he did.
--Mitchell Hegman
No comments:
Post a Comment