Before The Snow Flies

Photo by phrenologist

It feels as if I’m on a deadline lately. Not work-related (although, I do have one of those looming), but seasonal. Everyone I know is going through the same thing – feeling tired, foot-draggingly worn-out, staring out the window at the cold and the grey (which is only going to get colder and greyer). I feel as if there are a million and one things I have to accomplish before winter sets in for reals, but I’m not exactly sure what these things are (building up a store of acorns? staking out a tree under which to hibernate?). Just things, stuff, goals (all nebulous, natch) that I feel as though I ought to check off my mental list before the calendar runs out. Before all I want to do is curl up on the couch under a quilt, which I don’t own (must rectify that) in front of the fireplace I don’t have (sensing a theme?) and drink tea and listen to the Great Lake Swimmers’ Moving Pictures, Silent Films until spring shows up again.

Spring is for hoping and planning. Summer is for frolicking. Autumn is for introspection and executing ideas. And winter? Winter is for simply enduring. Winter is for being melancholy*.

Oh man, I really need to move somewhere less frigid and existential angst-inducing, yes?

* Last year,  it was also for slogging around eastern Europe and walking miles and miles a day in the face of a never-ending bus strike. This year, it will also be for moving and new jobing (one hopes). But not skating. Never again.