Threads of desire

A scene in a storefront window. A roadway of grosgrain ribbon into a freeway of fabric, upholstered.

We need little trucks sometimes to take us on those byways, on a graveled road that leads past farms, over a small iron bridge that's over a creek, now freezing in the November night. Fish and frogs silent in their cloth of winter sleep.

We all huddle in, crave warmth during winter's chill. Some take a highway south, the further south, the better. Buttons of cars, zipping along the freeway. Here's Phoenix, here's Mexico. Annual migration of Snowbirds.

But regardless of come or go, we still gaze into storefront windows, our eyes wheeling along the ribbons of highway, chasing threads of desire.