In Which The Snow Blankets the Earth

It’s quiet. It’s more than quiet, and it’s honestly less than peaceful, but you don’t see me complaining. I like the quiet, sometimes. Sometimes it’s needed. For the earth to just settle down for a few days, for the traffic to slow, for the people to stay inside, for businesses to close.

Yes, the snow makes me reflective. I’ve been getting back into Tarot lately, so that doesn’t help. I feel…symbolic. Moved. I feel like at any moment I will become a philosopher.

I am in a dilemma so that doesn’t help, either. I wouldn’t call it Block, but there’s definitely a lack of narrative flowing through my mind these days. What’s going on? I know that this is supposed to be a time of deep reflection, that I need to calm down and not worry so much about the future, but does that have to mean that writing is an impossibility?

Maybe I am a person in that snow. Maybe I am trudging through it, through this foot and a half of snow on the Denver ground or maybe, maybe it isn’t Denver at all. Maybe I am an eskimo on a frozen tundra, on a frozen landscape. Perhaps I am lost. There is good opportunity to get lost in this wasteland of ice – people have been left before and the snow simply covers them up, burying the evidence, burying the consequences.  I am lost. That must be it. I trudge forward, inspired by a will to live that I have not experienced before this and I begin to run, my parka and my furs limiting my pace but keeping me warm like I am inside a heated oven. Perhaps there is something beyond that horizon, something that is not ice and water or ice and ice and ice. Perhaps there are people beyond that horizon, perhaps there are lamps and beer and beds…perhaps there is comfort in that place.

But I am out here, I am not there, and I will not be there for a long, long time.

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