I was riding in an old blue suburban
packed full of my siblings. All bony knees and elbows
and loud familiar voices.

I gazed through the glass
and forgot myself. I looked like any other
dumb kid day dreaming
about nonsensical things to all the cars that passed.

But my eyes darted to and fro.
I distinctly remember
the irrational panic that sank like
a stone in my stomach

as we flew down the highway.
Always grappling with our irrevocable
tardiness.

My eyes were searching out the
landscape that swept by,
Trying to spot single blades of grass.
Finding inconspicuous shrubs,
concealed branches, and
subtle cracks and crevices.

It had occurred to me that things
do
go unnoticed.

And my five year old brain became bothered.
Grazing the edges of obsessive.

At the time I felt
anguish
for those forgotten.

I wanted to be the careful one.
Observant and
appreciative of those subtle splendors.

Was it simple selfishness?
The enticement of being the only one
to see what I was seeing.

Some early subconscious struggle
with originality. Prematurely grasping for
anything to set me apart.

Maybe a concoction of both.

I just know that I am
here gasping in the cold. Watching clouds of
frost pour from my mouth

And my eyes remain
darting.
From one snowflake
to the next.

Desperate to catch them before
they dissolve into the
nothingness.