That’s what I’m telling myself. It reminds me of the sugar beaches of my youth. Sunburns and shade and hot feet and warm water and getting that sand everywhere. At least the snow doesn’t have that same persistence of sand. Indoors, anyway. At least it has the decency to melt inside. Otherwise? No way. This stuff has been on the ground for a week, tomorrow.
But if you squint, it could be sand. It has just the right amount of frost as a covering to sound like walking on sand in shoes. And those grassy bushes, those bushes that I run my hands through, you know, when the windchill isn’t six below as it was yesterday morning, or .5 degrees this morning …
Point five degrees? Point five degree? Why are we even bothering to consider the grammar, or even calculate this?
Those bushes, why if you keep your gaze low to the ground, you could almost convince yourself they are sea oats.
But then the wind blows, and you realize you’re a long way from the Gulf.
On today’s program I spoke with Jamie Zega. She’s a former editor-in-chief of the Pacemaker-winning Indiana Daily Student. Soon she’ll graduate and take her many talents and great potential to The Washington Post. But today, she’s talking about modern presidential language. This one, as the people say, is sorta NSFW. Give her a listen in the player below:
Did you listen yet? You should? She’s a very smart and thoughtful young reporter.
And, now, back to my pretending to hear sand beneath my feet.
