I hope you think of me every time you feel air brush up against your skin, that moment of denial when you think I have gone, that it did not matter, because it did matter, it will always matter.
A favorite Van Morrison is tinkering around today in my head, as I reach
for sounds to listen to, amid the murmur of all of this cold, soaking and saturating my soul. (Note to self: warmer blankets need to be added to my bed) I'm not quite sure what this says
about me, or of the universe I have created by entrenching the hopes and
flaws of myself, into a single season, but winter is really not for me. Summer takes it, hands down. Curating my life into one stream of
thought, also feels like I am molding many junctures now into a single being, a
single well defined branch instead of an entire tree with roots in all
directions. Summer is but a hopeful reappearing memory, as I peer up at the jar of sea glass and
seashells tucked away on an upper shelf, and get back to the daily grind business of getting myself through the audacity of this frigid month, and then further along through the dread of February's ice and snow predicted.
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