Poissy has been gray skies with the rare ray of sunshine. Only street lights reflect off the river these short days. The cold colors of gray, black, and brown blend from sky and trees to brick and sidewalk. Shifting shapes hide behind black coats, gray jackets. Black birds break through the low laying clouds and toss up the freshly laid blanket of leaves. You walk through, crunch the leaves under your feet and the birds scatter.
Winter is earth’s season of solitude
It strips its trees bare, and draws the curtains at the most ungodly hour. It turns the ground cold and brown. Flowers die and animals burrow. Birds mock with squawks hundreds of feet above you and fly south past you and your human legs that will never soar to flee the cold.
You look up at the graceful strokes of feathers of freedom to warmth as you stumble over the bitter wind that slaps you to the reality that you must face the cold. It is your burden to bear. It comes with the seasons, the cycle of wonders and shit. Only birds escape and we’ll never fly. We walk, and slowly, especially went your joints are frozen and your bones shutter with ice.
But we continue on. Can you imagine a winter without holidays? The coldest months without Christmas or New Years?
I don’t think it is a coincidence that we have created seasons in the winter for us to deny ourselves the time to be alone. We rarely do. We are social animals that crave touch.
We dress up dead trees with lights, doors with red ribbon, our house with smells of cinnamon and pine needles. We crave life and color at all times and cannot handle the bitter reality that the winds do not chime with sounds of carols but voices who crave to be happy write ballads of happiness.
We created Christmas at the dead of winter to relieve the cycle earth gave to us. We need family and presents and smells and sights to cope with the season.
And for those people that can’t forget about the death, we created a New Years, a holiday where you drink yourself stupid and forget about the year you couldn’t defeat the inevitable. You start over, fresh, with promises of making yourself better.
This year will be better.
I highly doubt it unless you know that winter is coming again. Soon.
Winter is earth’s season of solitude
It strips its trees bare, and draws the curtains at the most ungodly hour. It turns the ground cold and brown. Flowers die and animals burrow. Birds mock with squawks hundreds of feet above you and fly south past you and your human legs that will never soar to flee the cold.
You look up at the graceful strokes of feathers of freedom to warmth as you stumble over the bitter wind that slaps you to the reality that you must face the cold. It is your burden to bear. It comes with the seasons, the cycle of wonders and shit. Only birds escape and we’ll never fly. We walk, and slowly, especially went your joints are frozen and your bones shutter with ice.
But we continue on. Can you imagine a winter without holidays? The coldest months without Christmas or New Years?
I don’t think it is a coincidence that we have created seasons in the winter for us to deny ourselves the time to be alone. We rarely do. We are social animals that crave touch.
We dress up dead trees with lights, doors with red ribbon, our house with smells of cinnamon and pine needles. We crave life and color at all times and cannot handle the bitter reality that the winds do not chime with sounds of carols but voices who crave to be happy write ballads of happiness.
We created Christmas at the dead of winter to relieve the cycle earth gave to us. We need family and presents and smells and sights to cope with the season.
And for those people that can’t forget about the death, we created a New Years, a holiday where you drink yourself stupid and forget about the year you couldn’t defeat the inevitable. You start over, fresh, with promises of making yourself better.
This year will be better.
I highly doubt it unless you know that winter is coming again. Soon.
You thief joshua baltz
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