Today is winter. Again.
Long cold fingers seemingly reach from the North across hundreds upon hundreds of miles to find me. The sun shines, but I find no warmth in it, instead each blowing wind feels like another icy caress. To me, everything reflects the uncaring grip of winter from the barren trees moving to and fro as they rake their claw like branches across the sky to dormant grass that seems to quietly crush beneath each step I take.
It’s just a season. It’s just the tilt of the Earth’s axis and our overall position in orbit around the sun. …it is, but it feels like so much more to me. Like one of the few brown and shriveled leaves hanging onto the oak tree, my emotions are seemingly drained of vibrance and now merely give way to any passing situation.
It’s not the cold. The numbness in my limbs, the shivers that sometimes aflict me, they come from more than just Old Man Winter. In reality, he has much more going on up north than anything he might throw as far south as I am now. No, it’s not the cold.
I miss Chelsea Rose Murphy.
It is the season inside that hides the warmth of the sun or whips the north wind across my face. The season inside is a frozen day where no birds sing and no squirrels race across the lawn. The season inside brings dreary clouds and long restless nights.
Without Chelsea Rose, the season inside is the winter inside…
…and today is winter. Again.
…I heard a song today. It’s not new, its one I’ve heard many times before, but today, just today – I heard it in a different way. I played it a second time, just a little louder as I begin to hum just a little.
I don’t know, it felt a little like that first green leaf and stem poking upward just a little above all the brown, above the dead grass, a sharp contrast of green… it felt just like a little bit of hope, maybe a tiny bit of joy. I played the song a third time, this time I sang. I felt happy, and I thought of Chelsea.
It is still winter inside. It is still a very long and restless night. Tonight. I’m sure tomorrow and the tomorrow’s yet to come will be the same.
…perhaps I’ll listen to that song again tomorrow.