AN OLD BROKEN BRANCH
I walked late at night. It was after a blizzard. I saw the snow caked on a tree, which was set against the sky with
some random stars and a moon with a deliberate appearance. The way an old broken branch held the snow
seemed to teach us a lesson—to stay calm and patient while waiting, while dreaming. Nothing seemed to fidget in the world except the mind—uneasy and difficult.
When it began snowing again, I started to imagine that the stars had eyelashes carrying some snowflakes like
mine. But, their light, like a clear stare, shone through. And, the moon—casual and distant. And, no, I didn’t hear any sounds from any old broken branches. They didn’t whine as we did—as we often did in advance of any predictable disasters. So, a black bird from my mind flew into the snow—a disturbance. It surfed through the
snow, which pushed on its feathers gently. A touch—a clash—so alive. I had always wanted to be a disturbance.