Sitting here in front of the light box. Still dark outside. Maybe a little blue-dark, but a dart of sun hits the ice. We are licking the moisture from the windows. We are thirsty for a new year. Timothy sits on the couch, feet up. Reading a bad book. Because he always has to be reading. Today I want him to think only big thoughts. Please let me leave this waiting room, this space of lost luggage. Please let the cogs turn, the planet swing low on its orbit back toward heat and warmth. We will go away together. ...