[. from landscape ]
thats a suitably bleak picture. and many will find it romantic and lush, full of insinuated meanings and vague, blurry, triple-layered nuances.
sometimes you wake up feeling like that picture; a sharp, uncoloured awareness of yourself, and all around you.
and of course, itll never feel abundant or happy or gay. you’ll realise you are you, and there wasn’t much to you. and that it was your own unintended fault.
or you’ll feel coldly alone. except, as those who’ve lived homeless for long become ‘used to’, you’ll see again the bonds that tie us all. there’s the obligations and the indebtedness; the love and familiar.
there’s those you held above change, above time, above physical movements and friction. those are the ones you start to wonder about in the wintry time of your soul. you muse if you let open your hand just a little, will it lift and be away, gone, to its own cadence and purpose, and/or lured away by the persistant sweets of other trains.
another feature of this wintry awakening is the incredible distance. things once held near seem far, or missing. or maybe, for the sake of sanity, discovered unreal or misconceived. in all directions, you see the lapses.
in judgement and in perception, you realise perhaps you have not failed, but oh what a distance to make up for.
the landscape around you is never really empty. it shouldn’t be, for you are never alone in your context, but inevitably tangled in engagements, in relationships – all markers of your position in time and space. …to see not even the physical blots is a whiteout of the soul. you’re blind and dead for a time, a worse kind of winter, for you lose perspective even of your perspective.
these winter times are when the winds around me howl the greatest, and my senses demand to be painfully acute.