Waking up is a tedious activity when it’s cold. Hours go by, as I lie listlessly, rolled up in my razai, luxuriating in the comfort of my cocoon of heat. It takes repeated assaults by my sense of urgency to overcome this quagmire.
Today as my eyes scanned my surroundings in the half sleepy, state of sloth, I noticed the flakes, swaying in the wind. I extricated myself from the trappings of my warm bed and was greeted with a magnificent sight outside the window.
The bitter cold has defeated the warmest clothing I could muster. The winter is going to be beautifully, brutal. I have seen some amazing changes in the past few months, from 10 hour long days, to the rich colors of autumn leaves and now this.
I think about how the years have passed and a lot has happened in in my life. Enough, that I can think about several occasions when my life changed dramatically. Things that were once new, become routine, but the almost otherworldly thrill of a gust of cold wind blowing through your hair, sensations of the inexorable passing of time as seasons change, thoughts that remind us of our puny stature in the vastness of this world, they never grow old.
From the bleak grey sky, blows, the shivering wind;
Bringing the promise of a storm;
The bare trees moan, rain falls on the frigid ground;
A lonesome light shines into the blackness,
Smoldering embers come to life and rise,
As the smoke rides the winter breeze;
Across the solitary expanse they are scattered,
Memories of a dear life, relived in every dream;
Open doors invite the creeping chill,
As thick fog descends, the smoke rises on the winter wind,
Pale faces, seeking comfort in smothering hearths,
The windtouched child welcomes the cold and smiles,
At the white smoke riding the winter wind.