A night when I was 20 years old. Summer in New Jersey, with all its wrenching humidity. Driving back from Philly on Rte. 130, in the pouring rain. Coming up to the off-ramp for Rte. 1, and a flash of lightning that split the sky into electrified green sections. The crack came, almost on top of me.

Driving on pure instinct, knowing I couldn’t control the car if anything were to happen, unable to see past the hood ornament. Standing in the parking lot of AT & T in a long green dress, welcoming the rain on my body, ratting my hair, smearing mascara. Jumping thru every puddle in the parking lot to meet J. and S.; just boys, frightened by the incredible power the storm transferred to me. Knowing they would never understand my female terribility.

February has always been the hardest month for me to live through. It seems as though everything is in stasis, and I yearn for frantic motion. My life is molassessed, while those around me are at warp speed. Spring is eons away, summer even farther.