Free Entry 1, Week 2

Every car that passes by is a ticking clock, and despair is the only thing my fingers yield. But even despair must be prodded, pried open and investigated. Nothing flows freely; nonsense is the hardest thing to come by, like a diamond but more valuable. So I will live as a honey bee and milk the nectar of sweet-smelling flowers. My despair will be winter, and I will endure it frozen in a snowflake, in a pond, alongside the icey shadowbox of a wooly mammoth. My love will be spring air, as I thaw from the deep slumber of stars and mountains, solemnly tasting the dewy sky. Every year my life begins there. And this year I'll go crazy, twisting my fingers through vast space, trying to capture the picture of honeybees. My nonsense requires too much thought, and suddenly I grow restless. Maybe tomorrow I will go mad, but not today. Today I am no orchid. I am a lowly tadpole, newly hatched and flopping in mud, barely able to dream a life of yellow and black stripes. My only hope is to swim fast enough to survive the day I sprout feet. With liberty to step on solid ground, I will journey to the Babylonian gardens, praying they're not as great as the pond.