Working Girl

There is a creek behind my house. I visit there before driving to work. The early morning sun shows me a silhouette of myself, high heals and a briefcase, and I can see that the wind is attempting a rescue mission with my hair. I wonder if my soul is not as loosely bound, grabbing desperately after the wind but tethered to my skull. I pull them both back into a ponytail and drive off to work. I am the hamster who loves her wheel. But I know the tether to be fickle. It is not in the animal's nature to be bound forever. If you do not value life, how can you still fear death?