the winter right before christmas
is the ONE time of year i can understand wanting to live in this shit-for-weather state instead of the comfortable warmth of california or nevada or arizona.
Outside it is snowing. fluffy, swirling, fantasy snow, falling fast. even my poor, dull old neighborhood has put up some christmas lights. the scene created by the swiftly falling snow and the lights and the sillouted trees and the looming mountains, barely visible against the consuming white, is something straight from a thomas kinkade, from a christmas picture book. The tall yellow streetlamp on the corner outside, lighting the falling snow, is strangely iconic; a story, an ethereal world, Lucy meeting Tumnus. this is the only time of year when my unlovely, unremarkable surroundings becomes every damn bit as beautiful, and probably more so, as anyone else's. The hushed isolation of the night, the eerie quiet of the world outside when it is snowing gives me the feeling that my world has been plunged underwater, impervious to the noisy penetration of reality, as if my entire life has been enveloped within a snow globe. The trees, still and stark, reaching spread-eagled into the sky with every tiny twig illuminated against the white, are nothing short of a testament to a sheer and overwhelming force, the intricacy of this bitch of a life that is both delicate and harsh. It is stunning, but it is a shock that leaves me smiling. I step outside onto my front porch in zero-degree weather and my feet are cold but i'm grinning, nothing but a quick glance around and i'm grinning for no reason at all.
Outside it is snowing. fluffy, swirling, fantasy snow, falling fast. even my poor, dull old neighborhood has put up some christmas lights. the scene created by the swiftly falling snow and the lights and the sillouted trees and the looming mountains, barely visible against the consuming white, is something straight from a thomas kinkade, from a christmas picture book. The tall yellow streetlamp on the corner outside, lighting the falling snow, is strangely iconic; a story, an ethereal world, Lucy meeting Tumnus. this is the only time of year when my unlovely, unremarkable surroundings becomes every damn bit as beautiful, and probably more so, as anyone else's. The hushed isolation of the night, the eerie quiet of the world outside when it is snowing gives me the feeling that my world has been plunged underwater, impervious to the noisy penetration of reality, as if my entire life has been enveloped within a snow globe. The trees, still and stark, reaching spread-eagled into the sky with every tiny twig illuminated against the white, are nothing short of a testament to a sheer and overwhelming force, the intricacy of this bitch of a life that is both delicate and harsh. It is stunning, but it is a shock that leaves me smiling. I step outside onto my front porch in zero-degree weather and my feet are cold but i'm grinning, nothing but a quick glance around and i'm grinning for no reason at all.