Breathing arctic air in, one, two, three, and out, one, two, three.

I am the walrus.
The very calm, serene walrus.  
No one comes near my ice floe.  
I drift.  

My big flippers are at rest beside me on the ice.  
They do not need to move.  
They are totally relaxed.  

My ice floe is separated from other ice floes and other walrii by cold, clear water.  
We walrii are uncrowded.  
Our marine mammal beauty shines with the Northern Lights.  

We breathe in through our nostrils, one, two, three as our whiskers shiver and shimmer.  
We breathe out through our tusks, one, two, three.  

I am monumental.  
I am imperturbable.  
I am unflappable.  
I am cool.  
I am invincible, but not Helen Reddy.

Feeling much better.  Much.  

The preschoolers who stayed up very late watching fireworks are drifting away on their own little ice chunk.
My father who tried to run over me because I wouldn't let him pull himself out of his wheelchair and fall on his face on the floor is drifting toward the Midnight Sun.  

I am surrounded in cool white light.  Cool.  White.  Light.

I open my email.  The Dallas Morning News asks, "Do you want Rick Perry to run for president?"

That would be a cold day in hell. 

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder


Kathleen said...

I am now in love with "walrii."

Kathleen said...

Revisiting...at your command! Yes!

[and no, to Rick Perry--thanks for taking care of that since July!]


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