In Joplin the morning was still but white with frost: twenty degrees outside someone in the lobby said over juice and cereal, but she hadn't been out yet. My fingers were numb from packing the car, my gloves felt thin. Why would you want thicker gloves going south my head said, but Oklahoma was blustery and dark, and colder. I wore my two coats. Then across the panhandle spitting rain turned to snow which froze all over the car on contact. It glazed the windshield with dry gray ice and the wipers froze. I watched the trucks line the shoulder of the highway with their hazards blinking in the whiteout. I pulled off to let my heart slow down. Amarillo had its lights on by the time I passed through. Roswell loomed miles out from the middle of the earth.
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"Judgment of existence: the most necessary that we know is being."
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It is necessary to become a realist after all.
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