"I’ve missed autumn. I miss walking through the leaves that are crinkling around your feet tossed by the wind. I miss the hum of them as they skip along the pavement getting caught in crevices and being thrown.
Most people see dead leave, see Fall as an end. As the promise of nothing but winter and death. But Fall with its rusty smells and dirty based…chemicals, promises that hardships are coming.
But it gives the perfect moment to realize that the hardships won’t last forever, and it promises the spring and summer. Fall wishes to remind us of the order of things. Everything at every time it’s suppose to be. Order—it promises us death and birth and life. It promises the order of things."
-Candace, a character in one of my old plays, With This Ring.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Snow Days
I was in the pool at the gym and I glanced outside the tall windows that line one of the walls and the thought just floated through my brain, "Its going to be so nice to watch it snowing out there when I'm nice and warm in here."
And there was a whole second before I realized the absurdity of that sentence. I will not watch the snow fall in Dallas. I will not see the world transform. I won't sit at a table with a hot cup of cider and write in my journal as people bustle by with their heads kept dry in knit hats and their faces obscured by long scarves. I won't experience that deep primal joy your body feels as you thrust it into a warm environment, wrapping it up in layers upon layers of blankets.
And it made me sad.
Granted, I was never the biggest fan of winter--of the cold cold that makes your insides quiver and jump, but there is something in the snow, in the crispness that precludes and encompasses it, that is enrapturing. Its the tingle in the air before the snow starts falling, the promise of something completely different. Its the way that the snow flakes light up like bright stars as they drift past the street lights. Its the brief second when they get tangled in your eyelashes, soft and cold. I will not miss walking through snow that had been piled up for days, weeks, and falls apart beneath your feet plunging you into ice cold scary puddles of slush. I will not miss the cold wetness when you wore the wrong pair of shoes and now have to sit through the rest of the day in soaked through garments.
But now as I face that lack of any of those charming (and not so charming) moments, I know that I will miss the snow and the hassle. The clean white and the bright reflection. The bundling up. The boots and the gloves and thick socks. The sharp cold and the horrible ice wind that stabs your face with miniature daggers as you run for the bus, slipping on a spot of black ice and landing in a puddle.
Well, I'll miss some of it.
And there was a whole second before I realized the absurdity of that sentence. I will not watch the snow fall in Dallas. I will not see the world transform. I won't sit at a table with a hot cup of cider and write in my journal as people bustle by with their heads kept dry in knit hats and their faces obscured by long scarves. I won't experience that deep primal joy your body feels as you thrust it into a warm environment, wrapping it up in layers upon layers of blankets.
And it made me sad.
Granted, I was never the biggest fan of winter--of the cold cold that makes your insides quiver and jump, but there is something in the snow, in the crispness that precludes and encompasses it, that is enrapturing. Its the tingle in the air before the snow starts falling, the promise of something completely different. Its the way that the snow flakes light up like bright stars as they drift past the street lights. Its the brief second when they get tangled in your eyelashes, soft and cold. I will not miss walking through snow that had been piled up for days, weeks, and falls apart beneath your feet plunging you into ice cold scary puddles of slush. I will not miss the cold wetness when you wore the wrong pair of shoes and now have to sit through the rest of the day in soaked through garments.
But now as I face that lack of any of those charming (and not so charming) moments, I know that I will miss the snow and the hassle. The clean white and the bright reflection. The bundling up. The boots and the gloves and thick socks. The sharp cold and the horrible ice wind that stabs your face with miniature daggers as you run for the bus, slipping on a spot of black ice and landing in a puddle.
Well, I'll miss some of it.
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