There is another plane across the asphalt, waiting like this one. It's full of people. I can see their heads, and movement. I put my hand, fingers splayed, on my own window. I know that I'd be delighted as a child if a hand in one of those tiny windows across the way returned the gesture.
It seems I've always moved through a series of little experiments.
I wanted to see how hot glue would behave on snow, what sorts of effects I would get. So one evening, when it was about 18 degrees F, I took a glue gun outside with me. I learned how the stuff behaves on snow. I learned a more powerful gun wouldn't require waiting. I deduced that colder temperatures would yield better results. Still...