Hello
This is the Claytonian Winter
Which is long and cold
And makes your soul weak and old
And will kill you with six whole months
Of grey and weary skies.
Sometimes the sky is the same color
As the water, as the snow on the ground
Even as the people around
Cold and grey like a battleship.
But in the grey there is also promise
That the sun will return from the south
That the ground will soften under your feet again
That one single wild flower will come and test the air
And return for all its kin down there.
I will keep moving and fight the Winter whenever
It raises its head;
Keep moving like a shark that lives on light and cool
Breeze instead of the seal-surfer dead.
This page is part of my swim to the surface, my dig through the snow to the warm light above. I will try to write on it everyday and hopefully you may see it and comment. This is for me, but for all of you too, for everyone who has been plowed under.
Thanks for Reading
