It’s day like these when I feel like I’m spending a few days inside some kind of foreign landscape. Like I’ve been transported into a cold and winterized world that exists inside a book on a shelf in the library across town.
Maybe the little worlds that are inside children’s storybooks are escaping like animals from a zoo and have come to swallow us whole into their simplistic complexion.
We are being eaten alive by the yellow skies in the mornings and Dr. Seuss pine trees.
Maybe we’re all trapped inside a novel. A novel about life, death, taxes, and snow.
