Recommended reading on WriteHere: Winter Dreams – http://wh.tl/151020-1
Source: Winter Dreams
Yes, I wrote a lot about winter, but mostly because I hate it.
I hate wasting the sunlight, but it was so cold today that I soon found myself back inside after leaving.
I went in and out on short errands, and did try to go for a walk, but it’s just too cold, and I’m not too far from the Raritan Bay, so there’s wind off the water as well.
There are people who advocate for its beauty, and yes, it does have a beauty of its own, but there is some beauty you want to view from afar, and that’s what I feel about winter. If I NEVER see another snowflake for the remainder of my natural life, I would be okay. If I NEVER feel another icy blast, or hear the words ‘wind chill factor’ or ‘real feel temperature’ ever again, I will be fine with that.
If I never scrape the car windshield again, that would be heaven on earth.
To never crawl behind a salt truck, or get plowed in, or any of the other sundry things that winter
inflicts, I won’t miss it.
I hate it passionately, and I can’t wait until it’s over.
I hate when it gets dark at 5 pm; I immediately feel a physical drain of energy, a heightened lethargy, and while I don’t quite sink into a depressed state, I have to force myself to get up more often than not.
So I’ve reached the following conclusion: winter is for children. Let them have their snowmen, snowball fights, catching snowflakes on their tongues, and snow angels and all the rest. You can ski up in the mountains til you drop. I’ll stay in the lodge with hot chocolate and remark on your incredible skill. Better yet, send me a video, and I’ll remark on your incredible skill (whether you have it or not; just the fact that you’re willing to be out there in the snow doing that, I consider you highly motivated at any rate).
Just needed to rant a lil bit.
To quote Sarah Connor in T2 just before she wrecked the psych ward:
“I’m all better now.”
The sun sets early
in wintertime anxious to
flee from the cold night
© Alfred W. Smith Jr.
It started again.
That damn twinge of melancholy that quivered
in her everytime she saw a leaf fall.
How she hated the cold months.
Coming with their inevitable fury, trapping her.
She would bundle up, drink coffee, anything to try and stay warm.
But somehow, they always got through her defenses.
Catching her up with their swirling winds, nipping at her.
She would take flight.
And they would follow.
And she would find herself naked and alone in a blasting wind of white
attacking the bare trees and stubborn pines,
and they would laugh at her.
She was trapped again.
Caught up in the majesty of it. Calling her.
Haunted by the wind’s lyrical melodies. Calling her.
She would reach, and touch, and feel and taste the snow,
laughing with all the giddiness and abandon of the little girl she once was,
the wind wildly tossing her hair, and she would say, very softly:
And the winds would die.
And the snow would drift gently.
And the stars would glitter tranquilly in
She was held in reverence here.
They always had to remind her.
© Alfred W. Smith Jr.
Winter Woods / Day of the Dark Full Moon (compilation)
December 10th, 1983
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