it just seems like there’s no end in sight

This winter is never-ending. Spring drags its muddy feet, reluctant to bless us with its milder tones, and I in turn remain sluggish and reclusive, like a surly overwintered plant not yet ready to unfurl its new leaves toward the sun. The white sky, the wind, the cold air within my house conspire to press me down. My body at rest stays at rest, no forces working upon it. I waste away; I shrink inward only to then recoil from what I find within. For the cold resides deep down in my bones, gathered in thick pools that creep forth to fill every cavity. I have begun to harbor caustic feelings toward this season we call winter. I love three seasons out of four, yet I’m not sure if even that combined love outweighs my growing hatred of the fourth.

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  1. I can’t get over how well you describe so many states that we seem to experience similarly. I’ve been lucky for some reason this winter to have mostly escaped that “sluggish and reclusive” state. Usually, the battles with my Inner Sloth are pretty ugly. Even so, I agree that it’s time Ma Nature stops teasing us with a nice day here and there, and for these white skies to turn blue.



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