December 5th, 2005

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Snowy, snowy Omyha

This evening I was heading north along the banks of the Missouri River on Pershing Drive in nighttime snowfall, listening to the Bus Stop cover/remix of Carl Lewis' "Kung Fu Fighting" and glancing over at the ice crusting the Big Muddy. Omaha is a stop-motion city for me. I've been visiting here regularly since 1999 or so, and these days come 10 or 12 times a year. I never stay long, a week at most, so a field that might be late flowers one visit is dying grass the next and snow-on-stubble the visit after. Like flipping through postcards of the same vistas over and over. I have my rabbit trails -- airport to hotel, hotel to work, down to garyomaha's house, out with blzblack and the rest of the Omaha Beach Party -- and I even know my way around the north side of town without a map or detailed directions. But still it exists in slices, stuttering vistas, like visiting a young cousin or niece every once in a while and being surprised by the changes in the child. There's poetry in this framing of the Midwest with my vaguely bohemian, SFnal way of the life, some kind of juxtaposition of the heartland with the Shadowlands. Right now it's covered in an inch or so of snow, and sister moon has hidden her face from me behind low, orange-tinted city clouds.