stendec

There is snow on the ground. There was snow on the ground yesterday and there will be snow on the ground tomorrow. Most of this country is usually like Hoth at this time of year. Very much like Hoth. You know, from The Empire Strikes Back. Snow banks and biting wind; death waiting for the slow of foot in a sea of crystalline white.

It is a time of year when nothing happens, the holidays over, people and money spent. We prefer indoor warmth to outdoor cold, early nights and late mornings. Moving sluggishly through short grey days, hurrying only on the way home. A time of vacations when those of us who can, jet off to Cuba, to soak up the sun and stock up on cigars. A time of hot beverages and boots, of radiators and rheumatism, when everything revolves around heat. A quiet time. Insulated.

It is a time when I sort of cease to exist, at least socially speaking. Going out infrequently, preferring to bury myself inside of thick books and thicker bed sheets. I am a firm believer in hibernation and regret that my body lacks the ability. I enjoy the idea of a few months of sleep, of dreams, of rest before the rejuvenation of spring; waking up refreshed and hungry for life. I bundle up and settle in, inward thoughts floating in the smoke of fine marijuana and dancing in the steam of Earl Grey tea, wishing for wood paneling and leather and the soft light of a quietly snapping fire.

It is a natural thing I think, for us to mimic the weather, to have that much of an empathic connection to nature's moods. All things have their cycle and here there are four seasons and it is midwinter.