Season's Changeing

I was feeling nostalgic and slightly wise at the moment. This is a comparison of the winter months and how they affect our emotions, and how nature can be compared to ourselves.

 

Season’s Changeing
a moment in winter

                A single day of unseasonable weather is all it takes to remind oneself of the beauty of the seasons just passed. A warm, comforting breeze caressing one’s skin in the bitterest mid-stride of the winter cold, is enough nostalgia of times gone by to heavy the soul with latent emotions of endurance and tribulation. What once, by comparison to summers past, would have seemed a chill frosting, becomes received and recognized as the uplifting reassurance of times much warmer to come.
                In the winds and weather is carried a heart-singing tale of tragedy and hope, sorrow and eternity; the ever-present tournament of the human spirit and the resolve and determination that drives it. Among the misplaced days in these mechanical seasons, change seems to brew and fester as the mold that thrives on death and rot. It is like the moss that grows at the north of the most depressive tree in a forest; draining the sustenance like a succubus, feeding from horror and removal, yet capable of curing conditions known deadly without attention.
                Emotion, like mold, will devour and strangle if left in dark stagnant recesses to fester and grow. It must be constantly stirred, moved and revitalized. Once allowed to grow unsuspected for too lengthly a contingent, it must be harvested, studied, and used, so that it may cure the sickness that has taken residence aside it. Once this final stage of self revelation and epiphany has passed, if not actions and measures have been taken, futile is the attempt of the solo practitioner to salvage the remnants of the vessel this emotion dwells within.
                This melancholy state of climate brings one mentally to a place of calm days, drawn long and haggard by the grey of the horizon. Minds and personalities grow to slowly chameleon the environment that has surreptitiously settled upon them and made dreary the world of summer sunsets with the cold and bleakness of the season.
                Amidst these bleak and perpetual days of early nights and comes only anger in the form of white. Like the hottest of flames, the torrents of crystalline anger blow viciously across the sullen landscape, blanketing the dismal earth and emotions in unstoppable white wrath. Danger and caution engross travelers already emotionally weary of the calming and mentally blanking affects of winter’s cold grip.
                The only emotions evoked by the sudden changes in atmospheric pressure are fear, anger, and bitterness. Ironic and fitting that these small crystals of precipitation, that can fall so gently, are formed by constant, sudden changes in temperature. These minute creations of indecisive barometric activity are so gentle and soft, yet when backed by the power of the winds, and the sheer multitude of their millions, they become all encompassing as a greater whole to those who dwell on the earth they fall upon.
                Not unlike the tempest of emotions that we, the dwellers, create, are these small glittering flakes that are aroused into blizzards. Our emotions, many and confused, head and cool, carrying minute vapors in the upper echelons of our thoughts, drifting closer to the surface as they cool, and pushed further from the epicenter of concern when heated. As these vapors collect and drift in the cacophony of our indecisions they grow larger, more abundant. They become a steadily growing mass, soon no longer ignorable from the weight and pressure, eventually too heavy to be pushed away when heated; the gravity of the core too strong.
                Soon, a strong wind will blow, and the pressure will increase, the droplets of emotional vapor glistening in the light of attention, will hurtle towards the onlookers, becoming so vast and numerous that the source of light is longer seen, only the grey haze of the onslaught obscuring all vision. No longer will these small problems be able to be dealt with individually, having become a hailstorm laying waste to the environment and covering all in ice and snow.
                The storm rages and the subdued and melancholy become cautious, careful, and slow their pace against the relentless fury pressing against them and leaving its memory frozen and slick in its wake. The calm over-rationalized days that peacefully snuck their way into the surroundings have suddenly reached an interlude that crescendos in the midst of daily lives attempting to live and press on in normalsy despite the assault battering down around them.
                Endurance becomes a meaningful term of survival, having been transmogrified from the defining principle of those of greater will and ability. The storm peaks and breaks high above the heads of those suffering its affect, the remnants drifting down in flurries lightly dusting the remnants latent upon the earth being tread. The disaster has been ceased, the catalyst long forgotten, yet the effects continue to fall until the final residue of the event drifts beautifully downwards, sparkling in the light and drifting in chaotic patterns by the now gentle breeze, before finally coming to gently kiss the earth, and melt into the immaculate plain stretched to the skyline.
                With the settling begins the emergence. The cautious innocents show themselves and begin their duty to carry on after adversity. The torrent and its causes become a memory, only the left over remains that lie in its wake able to be seen, prestigious and pure in its newness and unspoiled splendor. Many desire only to sit and observe in awe and contemplation at the possibilities able to be wrought from this. Others tromp headlong into these unspoiled domains, swathing a path of their own footprints through the fields of white, footprints that those who observed will tread within, still unwilling to defile what little yet carved territory still lie calm and undisturbed. These unspoiled patches eventually becoming minute and rare, until even these will disappear with the footprints when all is melted.
                The warmth comes, magnified by the reflection of the brightest, closes sun staring hard at the earth and disheveled tracks. The remnants are collected into piles to sit and harbor, lying untouched and forgotten to melt alone.
                The day of reckoning passed, the bitter chill of winter still off yet a ways, a bright and warm lull falls upon us. Before the calm and depressing grey returns, with the memory of the harsh wrath fresh, we are granted an uplifting oasis of genuine, unjustifiable contentment. We will have warm breezes caressing our faces, open minds fresh with ideas new and old, and this feeling of spring will lift spirits and sooth instead of pacify.
                We will walk happily through the aftershock, and we will enjoy this intermediate bliss that will remind us that our emotions, like the weather, walk a middle ground of our making, manufactured by events having passed, and those known to come.