Feb 12 2009
the dirty and gray parts
There are spots of it on the ground. I was always so amazed at the ugliness the inevitable defrost caused. How beautiful snow is before but then after how it is just pure grossness, spattered mud on the roadside, dirt, rocks and earrings that fell off. Gray, black and brown. Never white again.
But I suppose there will be more snowfalls and defrosts, this is certainly not the first of to come. I just don’t really know if I should bother myself to be so excited when it does fall again. Why stand in awe for something I have seen so many times before? Why cherish anything that eventually fades to waste?
Bright optimism wouldn’t let the opportunity fall to waste. Enjoy what’s yours, and soak it up for whatever it’s worth.
When is the last time I really enjoyed the snow? When it was autumn and took away the colors on the trees? The last one before spring when I was so disappointed to see it go?
No. I really don’t think that’s right. You all eventually turn to mud. If I’m such a fucking beautiful snowflake, one that is so individualistic, don’t we all just turn to mud? With time, condensed by the changing temperatures, what was once whole and unique, gathers with the others, so they all look alike on the ground. I couldn’t pick you out of a fucking crowd, uniqueness is wasted in the numbers.
But then we all look so beautiful together, don’t we? Blanketing blanket blanket blanks on the floors and frozen grass. I think we do look quite pretty actually, your hand in mine, our crystallized lengths reaching out for each other and lying flat on the snow in the beauty of white. And ice. And simple simple collective being.
But with time, it all goes to waste. Certainly. We knew that. Each snowflake must die. But whoever said it had to be such a grotesque process?
When I look out my window today, I cannot remember the snow. I don’t remember the unique snowflakes I examined with my magnifying glass as a child, I don’t remember the taste of the freshest flake I grabbed on my tongue between classes at college: I am simply made bitter by the site of such ugly and dismal gray patches by the side of the road.
It all struck me today as being such a waste.
