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January 19, 2003 nor any drop to drink I catch my reflection in the chrome tea kettle and wish I hadn't.  The shiny convex surface creates a house-of-mirrors look I don't much care for.  I pour boiling water into a cup and wait as the tea bag bleeds to death. From the kitchen window I watch New Year resolvers walk their laps.  I enjoy this time of year when conviction evaporates and resolution dies.  Solidarity is poignant when death is in the air. I recall an astrologer gasping for breath as she read my chart.  She had never seen so much water.  No fire, no air, no earth.  Only liquid emotion. "It is a miracle you have not drowned," she whispered. But I believe in miracles, so I am not surprised at all.

©  2003 by the beastmaster