Undone By The Wonder Land

Blackness.
Ever growing blackness barely fading at it's ends.
Blackness like an endless tunnel of velvet.
A mournful wind lures me from my warm cocoon.

Everything is clearer here,

Sharper here,

Colder here.

Moonlight glows on the fallen snow.
Feathery snowflakes brush cheeks.
Burn as they melt on the tip of a tongue.

The howling wind rises,
Stings,
Whistles through leafless fingers of branches.
Tears stand in the eyes.
Icicles gleam,
Frozen in their dissent.
The wind caresses,
Loosens.
Some Fall, the sound like tiny bells.
The glistening pieces Pearce my soul like a million shimmering shards of glass.
When it is morning, the sun will Pearce the velvet black with its bright rays.
And the snow will blind the world with its purity.

The Happy Sad

It is november and i am starting to get chills.Not the kind that you might expect because of the cold weather, but the kind you get when you are anticipating something exciting. Yes, thanksgiving is coming up fairly soon and Christmas too, but these are not the source of my excitement. I am excited for winter. =D As far as I'm concerned it's pretty much already winter here. We have entered that seemingly endless black tunnel and the air is getting too nippy for autumn, and we're sure to get snow soon. I love winter; the crunch and sparkle of new snow, the decoration of icicles, pine trees and peppermint, and hot coco by a roaring fire. I love just about everything but the cold itself. And despite all this, winter always manages to make me sad. Yes, that little blossum of excitement that awakens from deep inside and brings so many happy memories, feelings and traditions, is laced with sadness. I have no clear explanation for this, but it seems to have been so for quite some time now. something about a cold clear winter morning or the moonlit snow beneath the black cloked sky causes me to thrill and drink in their beauty, but also to want to weep. But o, I love winter so. Even just the word excites me and floods me with memories. I think I may try to write something on the subject.

late night feelings

I've been thinking about snow of late.We don't have snow at the moment, though way too much rain for typical March. It is that lovely transition between winter and spring when winter is trying to hold on yet spring is beginning to blossom. Tonight I was out walking with a friend and the air was just so beautifully crisp and clear. It reminded me of a quiet winter morning. Also there is something trans-like about street lamps and neon signs at night, when activity is slowed to a minimum. I find it very beautiful. Now I ought to write my papers, yet I can't quite get up the motivation I'd really rather just sit outside and listen to the silence :)

summer nights

I have always loved night. Not that I particularly prefer it to day, but there’s something about the hours of darkness; the time between fading twilight, velvet blackness and the unveiling of don. Night seems poetic and magical some how; certainly the poets thought so, However, I realize there are many poems also about the day and things that only happen during the day time, but I particularly love the night and all its mysteries. For example, how midnight is called “the witching hour,” or how it is said that nothing good comes from a call between 2 and 4 a.m. However 3 a.m. is also called “the hour of magic.” I have always liked a good mystery, and night with its noises, animals and goings on all under the cover of darkness is a mystery.

If I had to pick a season, in which I liked night best, I would be stumped. However there is something to be said about a summer night. Even when I was young, I would tell people that I would most like to be out at night during a fog. It’s something about the warm dark closeness that makes me feel as though I’m floating.

Then there are the sounds. The sounds of summer are unique. Certainly they are different from one part of the world to the next, but they are all similar in a way and unique as a whole. Sounds of course are something I pay special attention to. The chirp of frogs; the ever unanswered question of the owl on his nightly hunt; the crickets like tiny bells; louder and faster, more persistent as the night grows hotter and stickier. There is the shushing of trees as the wind yawns; the musical lilt of chimes, as they carry unseen from someone’s porch through the darkness; and then the soft tinkle of birds, as they begin their day.