On a retreat to the mountains, I escape to step outside of regular life for a time. The peaks dressed in winter white, time refrigerated by the falling flakes, and lovely folks around me, old and new, alight all the artist parts of my brain.

On a shelf in an old bookstore, I meet myself, a mixture of the past and future, and she is disappointed, mournful. While browsing poetry titles, she cries. I listen to her, and she says, you’re running out of time.

On a separate shopping excursion, I adopt a pair of sunglasses - two perfect black circles to conceal the passing of time that my eyes can’t hide. I show my friend of photo of me at 16, she says, you look exactly the same.

On my return flight, all that I am packaged back inside my bags, inside my body, my appetite for life appeased for the moment, I decide I like myself, and I can change, as everything will mix with time, coming out the other side, beautiful.