as glass strikes concrete. There are slivers of ice and water mushrooming like clouds above the mountains or a bad decision. But this is less an act of nature more an act of human error; nature is lightning striking a grain silo and error is you standing on the same silo in a thunderstorm holding a coat hanger. But lightning never strikes the same place twice and humans will make errors repeatedly, like how you kept going over to the farm house the colour of a robin’s egg, like how you used the coat hanger because you thought you had to. There’s blood mushrooming onto clean sheets as a robin watches from the windowsill. But every decision after that wasn’t really that, it was a chain reaction; the coat hanger was just the catalyst. You’re the glass striking concrete and the crystalline pop and the coat hanger and one day, like the robin, you’ll lay turquoise eggs and flutter in the breeze and the farm house will be nothing but a cloudy memory, water under the bridge, a sliver of a bad decision.