The bitch is back... Perhaps name calling is a bit out of line here, but my attitude towards the present time of year has always been a borderline mix between aesthetic awe and physical loathing. Well, maybe not always, but times when I was a kid and the only reasons for going outside in winter were to build a snowman/mock igloo, go sleighing or some such don't count anymore.
I stood smoking in the kitchen yesterday. As icy tendrils of air seeping in from the outside kept brushing against my skin, I watched twin reflections of the sun from some adjacent windows of a building in the distance. As the light waned it turned bloodorange, then seeping into the red of festival lanterns. Such a distinct, striking color. Same as that pale, cool shade of green smack in the middle between the blues and the reds just over the twilight horizon. Unmistakable. Most prominent in the winter months. Standing there, wisps of smoke slowly sucked out of the room, just for a moment I felt completely at peace. All the everyday bellyaches and frustrations frozen off and bled away by the fading light. Near ataraxia. Moments like that really balance the books. Trudging on errands while the frigid wind bites under a monochrome overcast sky doesn't seem as bothersome for a while. The only drawback is that they're so rare. Sometimes I think that gray skies are this countries major affliction from which everything else stems.
I woke today after a dream of being Dustin Hoffman trying (successfully) to blow up some kind of mine. Escaping at the last moment through an underground river I turned back into myself only to surface in some indoor swimming pool, where I was a participant in the annual inter-department university championship of synchronized swimming with dolphins. There's nothing like waking up at 6:30 to a world already on the brink of dawn instead in the midst of night like just a month ago. It's bright and crisp outside. There remains only one thing to do. Set the controls for the heart of the sun.
I stood smoking in the kitchen yesterday. As icy tendrils of air seeping in from the outside kept brushing against my skin, I watched twin reflections of the sun from some adjacent windows of a building in the distance. As the light waned it turned bloodorange, then seeping into the red of festival lanterns. Such a distinct, striking color. Same as that pale, cool shade of green smack in the middle between the blues and the reds just over the twilight horizon. Unmistakable. Most prominent in the winter months. Standing there, wisps of smoke slowly sucked out of the room, just for a moment I felt completely at peace. All the everyday bellyaches and frustrations frozen off and bled away by the fading light. Near ataraxia. Moments like that really balance the books. Trudging on errands while the frigid wind bites under a monochrome overcast sky doesn't seem as bothersome for a while. The only drawback is that they're so rare. Sometimes I think that gray skies are this countries major affliction from which everything else stems.
I woke today after a dream of being Dustin Hoffman trying (successfully) to blow up some kind of mine. Escaping at the last moment through an underground river I turned back into myself only to surface in some indoor swimming pool, where I was a participant in the annual inter-department university championship of synchronized swimming with dolphins. There's nothing like waking up at 6:30 to a world already on the brink of dawn instead in the midst of night like just a month ago. It's bright and crisp outside. There remains only one thing to do. Set the controls for the heart of the sun.
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