On Winter

This is the first post in a new series I’m starting (and that I hope to do at least once a week) called On Blank. Sometimes these posts will be short essays, other times they may include elements of fiction or poetry, and on occasion they may simply be original photographs. No topic or idea is off-limits; On Blank will focus on whatever comes to my mind that week.

Winter seems to last forever anymore. Or maybe I’m just getting old, my memory fading. I can’t recall the last time I felt sustained sunshine against my skin. Everything seems so gray, dark and dingy and relentlessly tiresome. It’s been winter for too long and I’ve been too busy to enjoy the simple pleasures of the season: hot mugs of tea, curling up on the couch, huddled together beneath blankets, enjoying a quiet night of movie watching. I’ve done these things, but the moments are too fleeting against the endless backdrop of cold winds and gray skies. In March, I will visit my brother, I hope. I’m already dreaming of lying bare-limbed on the beach, the sun soaking through every pore of my body. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel it: warmth and light spreading through me, flowing in my blood, seeping deep down, into the very marrow of my bones.

But for now, it seems like winter lasts forever and the sun is a fairy tale that plays only in my mind.

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