Sweat slips in torrents down the metallic impossibility of its taper, quicksilver running down my hand in numbing consistency. Water, frozen in the presence of an enemy, the ambition of -6 degrees Fahrenheit undulating with laughter- at such ease in puppeteering earth’s most popular element.
In my defiant fingers, I squeeze the icicle, relishing in its melting pride, the cool touch a beautiful reminder of the insignificance that seemingly defines existence. A breath, dulled by scarf, by bundled turquoise jacket, pulls sharp tendrils of barbed wire down my chest, my eyes weeping in involuntary awe of the blinding white landscape. Silence throbs. The sound of peace has been adopted by the moment, and it is, in turn, vibrated through the hopeful calls of birds- birds, that are invisible to most humanly recognition of significance, but remain the most accomplished wonders in time. Unlike, my boots, which are those of an elephant as heel after heel crunches into winter’s crystal leaves.
In all of the roughness that masks winter, the complained about that dwells under aching earlobes, bruised knees served over icy danger... Serene tranquility is a comfort that places me here, submerged in blank crumbs from winter’s 3-course meal. I used to believe that water was a constant that wove together this world that I could call home, an unerasable line, marked by pen and carved into stone the lakes, the rain, and rivers, and fun.
We are as constant as that liquid, fleeting in change. Perpetually frozen in time by our own mistakes, perpetually shredded apart into 7.674 billion snowflakes. We strive to be examined -found to be miraculously delicate, impossible, precious. Living in our own minuscule worlds, matrixes of self interest, running in circles around our pride to preserve ourselves. Yet, when we are piled together, 2 feet deep, in the expanding misery of a failed society, we compound into an obtunded lie defined by the resulting lack of order.
In my defiant fingers, I squeeze the icicle, relishing in its melting pride, the cool touch a beautiful reminder of the insignificance that seemingly defines existence. A breath, dulled by scarf, by bundled turquoise jacket, pulls sharp tendrils of barbed wire down my chest, my eyes weeping in involuntary awe of the blinding white landscape. Silence throbs. The sound of peace has been adopted by the moment, and it is, in turn, vibrated through the hopeful calls of birds- birds, that are invisible to most humanly recognition of significance, but remain the most accomplished wonders in time. Unlike, my boots, which are those of an elephant as heel after heel crunches into winter’s crystal leaves.
In all of the roughness that masks winter, the complained about that dwells under aching earlobes, bruised knees served over icy danger... Serene tranquility is a comfort that places me here, submerged in blank crumbs from winter’s 3-course meal. I used to believe that water was a constant that wove together this world that I could call home, an unerasable line, marked by pen and carved into stone the lakes, the rain, and rivers, and fun.
We are as constant as that liquid, fleeting in change. Perpetually frozen in time by our own mistakes, perpetually shredded apart into 7.674 billion snowflakes. We strive to be examined -found to be miraculously delicate, impossible, precious. Living in our own minuscule worlds, matrixes of self interest, running in circles around our pride to preserve ourselves. Yet, when we are piled together, 2 feet deep, in the expanding misery of a failed society, we compound into an obtunded lie defined by the resulting lack of order.
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