Snow globes, transparent sphere in a delicate glass prison. Once false move the fragile contents can shatter in a sopping mess on the floor.
So safe under the protective bubble. A cozy red brick house with tall trees and snow mounds.
Cheerful figures with rosy cheeks. Fuzzy mittens and vivid face facial expressions painted on.
Every other day it is a state of snowing or well, nothingness. Don't the occupants get overheated? Don't muscles become strained and of in need of a stretch? I guess not since it is eternal winter within the shell.
How dreadfully boring life must be to collect a layer of dust and water inside to tint a brownish hue.
Snow globes are unrealistic. Inside are perfect little people and snowmen living happily in a small enclosed space.
There is no such location. I have looked high and low and it doesn't exist.
My current vision is snowy and static like an old television screen. I don't remember a Wisconsin winter this harsh in years. Yet here it is, not welcomed.
Wind chills in the negatives as moods deadened by the avalanche of bad timing.
Suppressed frustrations settle at the bottom of the glass. No movement causes the white glistening pellets to remain stagnant.
That is until something or someone shakes it's round body up and down. The synthetic glittery snow swooshes around the sphere. Gushes of water in a tidal wave splashes over the scenery.
While there is a sense of sadness and frustrations within my heart, it is not indefinite.
To be stuck in one moment in time is not for me. I
prefer real life and not just a sudden jerk of movement to tip my world