found a natural history of western trees, one bone, with woodcut illustrations, and a reptiles and amphibians golden book like i had when i was little, one bone, ex-library, and a little seahorse i as a kid also had, which i carried out in a pocket-size salt box- today that is.
we woke to a frozen world. it doesn't matter for us. we're not insects or birds or flowers dropping dead. mister danced. he loves the cold. i moaned but i was happy until my battery died after a few pictures. i charged it all night. it's not a metaphor, it's a dying, it could presage death, death in camera. i hope to have many many more cameras die before i do. i wake depleted. i might get a charge from rubbing mister and the cold rays. i and he do produce amber electricity.
i meant to put the seahorse on the forehead, but the camera decided it was a dumb picture. fate is my editor, after r. that is. 
there's a certain inevitability to chance. what is the ability in inevitability. is it to do with us somehow? what ability do we still have? what chance?