Angeles freeways. I missed the winter colds and flu, thank goodness,
but my nose has gleefully anticipated the flowering of spring and
decided to barricade itself from further assault by the germs of
January. This seems to have necessitated building a cement wall that
is almost airtight.
It could be worse. I'm not punctuating the air with the hooting and
honking of a chest cold. My distress is primarily contained in a
solid blockage midway below my eyes. It has a discordant sound all
its own, a raspy intake of air that sounds like an avalanche on a
rocky slope but moves far less debris. I rival the wall-shattering
snorts of my step-father, whose nose-blowing in my youth would rattle
windows for blocks around.
In time I shall feel poetical about spring. I'll cherish the warmer
days, the blooming of flowers and the emergence of leaves. But for
right now I'll salute with a sneeze and a snort, the sounds of