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| Margate, Kent 4/2/2012 |
Sometimes you have to endure the cold, dark, harsh winters in your life
With the faint but sure knowledge that sure as time rolls on
There is a promise, a hope, a new season.
A blossoming spring.
This is not a metaphor for anything. I'm over winter.
I liked the new experience of snow and everything it brought, but winter has turned me in a carb guzzling, doona-dwelling, DVD watching blob.
A friend wondered if I had SAD (seasonal affective disorder). I don't think there's anything wrong with seeing minus 5 on the weather app and thinking, "hmmm.... nup. I'm staying right here. Shopping can wait another day."
Being outside for any period of time was an exercise in keeping out the wind, keeping in the heat, and getting to some form of air conditioning as soon as possible. Once at home, there was never a reason to venture back out. iPhones left in cars stayed there overnight. Urgent letters to be mailed, rubbish to be taken out... none of these were important enough to justify sub zero exposure.
When shopping, I found myself buying long life milk, and stocking up on pantry imperishables (that's such a mature adult word. Makes me think of bomb shelters and food drives...).
A friend wondered if I had SAD (seasonal affective disorder). I don't think there's anything wrong with seeing minus 5 on the weather app and thinking, "hmmm.... nup. I'm staying right here. Shopping can wait another day."
Being outside for any period of time was an exercise in keeping out the wind, keeping in the heat, and getting to some form of air conditioning as soon as possible. Once at home, there was never a reason to venture back out. iPhones left in cars stayed there overnight. Urgent letters to be mailed, rubbish to be taken out... none of these were important enough to justify sub zero exposure.
When shopping, I found myself buying long life milk, and stocking up on pantry imperishables (that's such a mature adult word. Makes me think of bomb shelters and food drives...).
Anyway, I'm ready for Spring.
Until it comes, I'll read poems about winter.
Winter-Time by Robert Louis Stevenson
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.
Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.
Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.
When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.
Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding cake.
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.
Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.
Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.
When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.
Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding cake.
