Walking through the cold air from the library; it is light. It has a certain smell. The cold. It is familiar. It is an old friend. I was raised within the cold, nestled onto its very bosom, under the crook of its arm and beneath its loving gaze. I know it, and it knows me. I move through it with such ease and splendor; I feel it wrap itself around my bare skin. It grazes my face and weaves through my hair, crawling up the nape of my neck and the edges of my ears. I feel good, I feel at peace. The cold is where I found home. The cold is where I grew. I was raised knowing the smell of the seasons, and when a storm was rolling in. But I especially knew when Winter approached. The air….it smells like, stillness. The air is clean, light, fresh. An inhale burns my throat, but only for a short moment, and the searing of its chill reaches its thin fingers to the floors of my lungs, and it grips the very life moving inside me. It seems to grapple my thoughts, and pull me into a grand state of consciousness. Of awareness. I am aware of my body. I am aware of the ground I walk on, and the curve of my fingers. I am aware of the earth beneath me, and the sounds around me.
In a single breath.
I think Spring will be here soon though. The city has been bathed in light lately, it would be such a shame to see its beauty disappear beneath the fog.
I’m glad I have you.
The sun was out today. It got up to 59 Degrees. I sat outside and did homework, and actually got a little color in the pasty white complexion that Seattle has given me. I laid out in the sun with Koko. It was remarkable.
I am considering splitting a plane ticket with my parents to come home for some random weekend, just so I can enjoy the CO sunlight that I so long for, as well as go skiing, and see my dogs…maybe chill with my parents too, you know, they’d probably appreciate that.
I don’t like Descartes. His views are redundant.
It’s as simple as that.
Plus, his most famous portrait makes him look like a pervert.
I need to call my parents soon. I haven’t spoken to them in weeks.
Jacob. Thank you for the phone call last night. I look forward to hearing more from you.
I’m going to bed before midnight tonight.
But probably not. I’m just trying to make myself believe that I will.
I’m done with 2:00 A.M. bedtimes.
Dear Samantha De Caussin,
Thank you for sharing your valuable tears.
And thank you for listening to me when I am saying absolutely crazy things that I don’t even understand myself, and then making sense of them.
You are really great.