Thursday, December 11, 2008

Hello, Sister Winter.

Had this unexpected wint'ry Christmas vision, one that gave me new eyes and a new memory to accompany the beauty that is this season. It involved being nestled deep into someone's impossibly soft couch, using an impossibly soft blanket and being much, much closer to the mountains than I am at present. In fact, the house was a lot like a cabin, really, what, with its wooden insides and walls and kitchen floor made out of WWII tent pegs and such. It, too, was something to see and marvel at some. I couldn't help but feel far, far removed from my own reality and thoughts. I was, after all, inside a painting. With the lights turned out, then, the focus moved towards either looking out windows to still snowy trees, burdened and bowed with the white or towards the consistently hypnotic, wood-burning fireplace. New music filled my head pretty constantly, including some Elliott Smith and Sufjan Stevens songs I couldn't quite pick out of the crowd, but it's the Jeff Buckley music I'll attach to that night. He owned the fragile vocals that filled up the silence by speaking to me in my conscious state and otherwise, creating some crazy dreams in my head (one even waking me up, as I tried to throw an imaginary, clawing cat off my feet) as I couldn't help but drift in and out of sleep and back again. Sometimes a three-legged dog would hop over and rest his head on the couch, asking with his eyes to be pet. And I did so.

It was an evening filled with the peaceful and the simple, but certainly not the simplistic. Time didn't much matter as much as little bits of conversation and keeping my toes constantly warm. No silences felt awkward, because none of them were. An actual snowfall would have made that one perfect, but I wasn't complaining.

You know, Sister Winter's not so bad, once you get to know her.


Lincoln said...

That was beautiful.

Dainon. said...

Thank ye, sir.