A reminder to be concise.

[dark_viaticum]

Read some poetry by Viggo Mortensen and oh, my heart, it really is the kind of thing that enters your soul and engages it in a slow and torturous dance, only to drift away after a bow and leave you grasping for a second dance. I can sit down and write, but that made me want to sit down and write. A bit about walking on snow which will probably be edited more and will definitely turn into something really long about the seasons when I get my stream of consciousness notes into neat rows of text, unfolding upon command.

fluff for packing
and hoisting
and rolling down gentle hills
is satisfying to watch
fall and turn into skin
cold but yielding to touch
tempting uniformity
gratuitous spoiling
danger of chilled digits
forgotten by the young
exploiting the old reborn

the crunch a lance through lungs
contracted ribs
full body discomfort
like a crisp bite and chew of an apple
the back of arms become colder.

the snow is an echo of the shiver
caused by noise
a frustrating grit
grit resistence
pressure forced down
grit resistence
pressure forced down
it repeats but I cannot--
I cannot think of it more
or I will find there is too much
residual lung air
and exhale unforgivingly
lightheadedness follows

maybe it is just as well
as to forget is comfort.

Help me out - How do you feel about walking on snow, ice, various types of ground?