winterlines

           I love winter. 
            It’s the darkness, the long dark nights when I can hide, not be seen, pretend the rest of the world is far, far, far away or maybe doesn’t exist at all. In its absence it offers so much, it’s an absence of light but a presence of temptations that dare not come out during the day for being ostracized or bullied.
            A time when shadows are no longer distinguishable from not-shadows, when there are merged or swallowed up by the all-encompassing, as I feel I am when night comes in tracking across my skin, darkening me, reshaping me, remaking me. Every night I feel I’m being rearranged and during the winter there’s longer time for this indulgence to be indulged.
            The sun’s very lethargic during winter, almost to the point of ailing.  Or is it saving it’s energy for longer days?  Even the sun needs a rest after all the work it’s done during the spring, summer and to some extent even autumn, it has to take its toll a little bit and leave it feeling more than a little weary, weather-worn, ragged around the edges.  Hence winter, a time for it to take the time for itself leaving us to our own devices largely, leaving us to face the dark for longer and longer, encouraging us not to ignore that side, the darker side, our negative.  Colourless it may seem but rich in shades and subtlety that light can only dream of and rest on its laurels of spectrum overload to make up for what it lacks in tone.
            The winter embraces, draws me in with offering and often comes through with its tantalizing treats.  Moods are different in the winter. They become secretive, some become agitated, some tetchy, but others become reflective as though looking into the pitch dark lets is see so much more than the exposed glare of a midsummer’s day.
            Others abound also during this time. The normally hidden, forgotten, ignored, rejected, things discarded as myth, as imaginings, hallucinations.  These things exist but need the right conditions to feed and thrive, conditions that winter offers in abundance.  An uneasy balance is struck between unlikely alliances during these forbidden, and for some forbidding, months, the world beyond, or even worlds beyond, are never very far away and the fabric between so thin that merely brushing against it could cause a tear through whose frayed edges nocturnal natures may seep.
             I love the winter, precariously-balanced on the edge of the year.
  © Anan Eebus (16th January 2018)