The crisp cold has always been a source of awakening for me. Not the frigid biting cold that pierces you through layers of clothing, but the cold that is just cold enough it stimulates your senses, allows you to see your breath and feel like you are a brave adventurer in a stark wilderness. My vision clears, my skin feels the light sting like the first time air touches the skin of a new born baby. I become brisk, my thoughts quick, my steps purposeful. What random things awaken us. What random and wonderful things.
I strive to a be a good poet and I am not. I try to compose prose and it is flat. I think that my thoughts are profound and wonderful until I see them on a page or hear them from my own lips, and then I remember that I am a fool. Perhaps one day I will be able to be a wise fool. It is my ambition.
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1 comment:
i like your seemingly bad prose a whole lot.
i could not agree with you more about the cold. i was actually going to write about that very same feeling, but you did it much better. gooood job.
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