A few winters ago, the city took one of those snowstorms that lasts a few days and the parks department had carved out the paths around the Tenney Park lagoon such that they looked like wide grooves in the white landscape. The lagoon, a shallow recess that takes overflow from Lake Mendota, ices over easily and solidly in the cold months and becomes one of the most active skating rinks in the city. I took a walk over there at dusk, following the cut paths as skaters glided just the other side of the white berm, and did so just in time to see the sun settle low out over the lake in such a way that everything white, which was EVERYthing, seemed to sparkle like some fantasyland. And just as I observed that singular moment of a kind of pure beauty that can never be recreated, my feet went out from under me and I fell square onto my back like a fucking cartoon. I lay there for a while, in nearly breathless anguish, wondering I could get up or if should dial 911 or if any of the skaters on the other side of the berm and seen me just swoop and disappear out of sight below the snow like a stupid puppet. Apparently none had, or, if they had, they didn't investigate to see if I was dead or dying, the dicks.

When I could breathe again, I creaked unsurely to my feet and made a vow that, from that day forward, all beautiful sunsets could kiss my ass, and, while I pissed blood the next day and could barely get out of bed for a few days more, I still think it is sad that no one saw that because, just at face value, it fucking HAD to have been hilarious.