A very cold night. Thoughts on personal season.
As the winter moves in I look. Sometimes there is a big snow . Everything just seems to disappear. But more often and more interesting is the frost, or that surprisingly thin layer of white you might wake up to without notice. The skin of cold that coats the remnants of a season past. The skeleton of warmth and life is almost celebrated in the texture of frozen time. Giving pause.
I called this one the Tendency to Pull Together. Now aka White Love. Named for the reason of explaining how I feel when I look at it. What I imagined while making it. How I might explain a certain kind of persistence. How season might accentuate that. It has remained untouched for months now as my focus on white over at Diaries has taken a rest. But today the story is as clear as the day is cold. I say to myself... the tendency to pull together. It is always there. Through thick and thin. Rests, perhaps dormant, waiting for a thaw. But always there underneath.
There is no frost, no snow today. But there is this cloth that reminds me.
And this one too, although nameless.
And another day.
