I long for winter. I find myself waiting for the chill in the air, the snap and bite of Jack Frost and the Snow Queen…
I find myself gathering hope as the days grow a tiny bit cooler…and then they warm up again…
I miss the mountains. I miss snow, real snow, so deep you can’t see your feet…and if you’re lucky, you can’t see your knees.
I miss the silence. I miss Silence more than anything else. The quiet calm of nature, especially under that layer, thick or thin, of white icy snow. I miss that purity.
I miss watching the birds and the deer meander through the snow, so full of life in the frigid temperatures.
I miss that balance, that release, that comes from sitting on the cold ground, surrounded by nothing but trees and frozen, and just being there, being a part of something outside of myself, but that is so deeply entrenched within.
I miss Home.
I feel all too trapped in this city. I’ve lived in cities where I didn’t feel this trapped and this disconnected, because there as always something that drew me, something I could do, somewhere I could go. I had other methods of reconnecting, of rebalancing, of finding that space. There is no space here for me.
My heart flutters strangely day after day, waiting hoping. Hope is a fragile thing though. If not fed regularly with little bits and pieces that keep it going, it dies, slowly, slowly, but still dying. There is no place to go…
It is winter that thaws out the harder places within me, the darker places. It is winter that I crave. Summer tightens me up, causes me to dig out my spot in the back of the cave and ruminate until my time comes. My time is winter.
I am tired of this hibernation, of this hiding. I am ready to be free. I am ready to be me again. It’s been so long, I have forgotten how.