conscious_every_second blueberries if i lay myself down on the tight bales of the winter storage, i do not care to listen to the sound of my beating heart, yet still i hear it, the conscious reminder i am alive longer than a snowflake, but shorter than the memory of the cold seeping through the narrow cracks of the barn, forcing me to carry on the morning chores, so i don't freeze to death. 020119 what's it to you? who go blather from