Swirling (Thoughts)

Swirling snow and tepid lights make up the concrete landscape that is my western home. The trees remain bare despite promises of spring. Nature is naturally cruel in demeanour but we accept this for her kindness in return is undeniable. In passing one can imagine her embrace being cold but understanding. She has the misfortune of watching the inevitable death of all her young yet, in great strength, she continues bring us into existence.  

Tender lights breaks the husk of the snow from the windows that surround me. Each window acts as a portal to a home. Each home represents someones sanctuary, be it the physical space they exist in or the mind in which they lose themselves. 

The snow is falling heavier now. As it collects upon the ground I picture a young woman placing make-up upon her blemished but beautiful skin believing the whiteness that she uses to mask herself will bring out her intrepid beauty. It is as if this barren but fair landscape needs to hide itself from us, its devoted followers, in order for us to continue to see its brisk purity. For many months of the year we shall be blind to the hard and feeding soil, the frigid and life-giving streams and the lean and sustaining wild life that dot the heaving land below our feet. 

Unfocused with thought the concrete world around me shimmers as the light reflects off the snow. The a sun is dim now as it lowers into the ground only to repeat its miraculous resurrection the next day. When it breaks the horizon with its life nurturing light I can imagine her exclaim tada, a wizard of the universe that plays the pica boo game with us, its young children, over and over again. Although we now know much of our protector of cold we are still as awed as ever. Since we gained the genetic coding to be the species we are today, blessed and cursed with forethought and the ability to understand our mortality we have stared at the sky above. We have realized how small we are in this world, nay, universe in which we inhabit. I am not the first to write on such thoughts and when I stop pounding on these keys tonight another will be communicating the same sentiment. The cycle shall continue. I do fear many things, from M.A.D. to disease. Not for myself but for all that exist in the world. I shall one day be gone, a conscious being stripped of his gift, but my thoughts and my ideas, my feelings and my fears will be repeated and perhaps that is a mortality I can hold on to. Perhaps.