How I Became the Ruler of the Universe  By Jeff Horn   It was a blustery early spring day. Dark clouds alternated with periods of sunshine. A steady wind blew. With the temperature in the mid-forties, it was a typical March afternoon in New York.   I hunched into my jacket, thinking I should’ve dressed warmer. But, what was one more thing on a day when everything was going against me. My alarm hadn’t gone off that morning, (which happens when you forget to set it,) causing me to miss an interview. When I got through to the HR lady, she clearly didn’t buy my excuse and informed me the position had been filled. I then discovered that five hundred newsletters I had picked up from the printer, to be delivered to a client the next day, contained a critical typo.   As I walked uptown, leaning into the wind, deep in self-pity, I became aware of someone coming around the corner on to Broadway from 94th Street, and heading directly at me. He appeared to be a denizen of one of the many flophouse hotels on that street. As he drew nearer, he raised an arm and in his fist he held a two-foot long section of a tree branch, thick as a Louisville Slugger, clearly intending to brain me with it.   “Make way for the Ruler of the Universe,” he bellowed, “or you shall be smitten!”   Just then, the clouds parted. We were awash in bright sunlight and I had had enough.   “You are not the Ruler of the Universe,” I informed him, with equal fervor, “I am!”   Lowering his arm, he muttered a sheepish, “Oh, OK,” and handed me the stick, which I accepted as the scepter accompanying my new title. And several years later, it still occupies a prominent place in my living room, as I continue to enjoy the job.   Winter by Jeff Horn   Morning Dawn fading the stars A cat begins his stirring My bare floor is cold   Noon Trees stretch their fingers Skyward in supplication The sun looks away   Night Darkness comes early It is the chill of no light I feel in my heart