From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
The rough wool of my winter coat chafes my neck as I tremble over the morning headlines; the cost of bread has climbed to six cents, and this talk of German peace feels like a thin veil for more blood. My hands ache from gripping the cold, notched redwood of These **Lincoln Logs** I bought for the boy, their sap-scented surfaces feeling far too sturdy compared to the fragile state of the world. Spending money on playthings feels truly **over the top** while the papers warn of a militarism that refuses to die, yet I crave the simple weight of those miniature timber walls. I find myself obsessively clicking the new toggle light switch just to feel the spark of control, dreading the day our prayers that he kept us out of war finally fail.