The Gonzo Wolf

I exhale winter’s last pure breath. Soon, it’ll be nothing but a memory; replaced. Recorded over by the next snowfall, if ever. A rarity to the southern-born child.

There’s miles beneath these mild-winter feet; Rockwell art come to life. The 1950’s Holiday dreams marked and remembered by every child twenty years after the fact. The Sears Catalog satisfied every household member’s bathroom wish. Toys for all the girls and boys, no matter age or need.

Soon, the world will melt, bringing back continuous noise to weary ears. Until next, we deep-dream of still-streets and moonlight’s reflection atop frozen fields. The makeshift toys shall return to their rusting. Tabletop snowmen prepare to face death’s gaze. The window to our childhood closes once more.

Goodnight.