For hours I could stand in the corner of my kitchen, against the granite cool. I am secure and tight in my space with grape in hand and feeling rather different. My thoughts flow rapidly like the Mississippi after cold cold days. I place my hand on the counter top to brace for my next daydream. I play out future moments, sing the words to Train, and stir rice. I'll do it again tomorrow night. The future moments will change and rolls will reverse like the tide of the great Mississippi. And tomorrow it will be rice. Again.