Winter: cold and harsh.
Dark: where the shadows reign... where the sun does not reach.
This is Winter.
[...]
I am the unwelcome guest, where false smiles are plastered as I enter, as the heat of the excitement and celebration dissipate as I make my quiet entrance.
I am the unwelcome guest.
The skies turn grey when I make my stay, and all grows cold as my winds bite. The nights are dark and starless, and though I make my yearly rounds, still I am unwelcome, and alone.
The one of the four who reminds of death, I am the melancholy and the chilling.
I may be bland, and I may bring cold and harsh winds, and my nights may be dark and starless,
but this is who I am;
This is Winter.
[...]
This is Winter.
I may be grey, but I am also white; I am whole to the colors of broken light; I am the calm that brings out the vibrant, the nothing that brings out the everything.
I may be cold, and I may be harsh; but I remind those to hope, that if there is a worse there must be a better and if there is cold there must be warmth.
I may be dark and hide the stars, but trust and believe and have faith; behind the clouds that are mine are the stars, and remember; it is in the darkest of nights and the darkest of times when hope and light shine brightest;
I may remind many of death, but there would be no life without;
"I am the end that is the beginning;"
This is Winter's advent.
I love the atmosphere you create with your imagery and language! It's definitely very wintry. This post reminds me of "The Book Thief" by Markus Zusak. The novel is narrated by death, and I think he would get along with your winter.
ReplyDeleteAlso, while reading your second section(?), I couldn't help but imagine winter as the spurned, weird uncle who the rest of the seasons hate/speak to only with passive aggressive comments. That image will make winter slightly less unbearable when I'm sick of the cold and snow.