Member-only story
Lucky Charms
and Detective Fiction
She stared out the window at the light coverlet of snow, wet enough to stick to all things green or branched, though disappearing quickly, rivulet by rivulet, from roof and road.
“The green attracts the snows” she thought to herself as it began to rain again, this time in earnest. “Well, the waters, anyway,” integrity demanded.
“Why didn’t I photograph the branches with their ermine mantles? What is it about photographs and memories? Why does it feel better, lately, to leave that phone behind?”
Pictures of the wonders of this world, the wonders of worlds gone by, and those yet to come, flashed through her memory. Timeless perception has its charms. And luck is with the perceiver.
Snow turned to rain, turned to slush, turned to, “maybe not the day for a wander. Oh well.” There are lucky charms to curling up indoors in such a way.
Yesterday the thermometer climbed toward summer. Last night, as she turned in, cold rain, almost-November rain, spattered against her windows. What is it about the November rain? But this is almost-Spring, the Equinox only days away. Water of any kind most welcome in a climate-changed world. “Here, anyhow,” she thought to herself, reminded of deluged areas and then those parched with drought. For the bazillionth time she shook her…
