here goes yet another, "I should be asleep" post.

i dont know why. thinking gets to me. it makes me ache for simple answers that i know, even without thinking through, really wont ever come to pass. it also seems, which i also dont know why, that thinking hits me as my body begins to tire out for the night.

and im not even sure what im thinking about really. on one hand [err brain half?] im elated about the snowflakes in the air. why? i dont know. im a winter person. i love snow. i thrive in cold weather. there is something special about the silence and the crispness at night during a fresh snow fall. everything seems heavy and still; but poised to fall. the only sounds are the branches that clatter and the sounds of heavy flakes raking across ice. its a sound of purity. its a picture of silence. its largely undescribeable why it enertains me so. tonight was the first night for snow in the air. and like a child, i sat by the window watching it swirl and blow around. for the moment, i guess i was a child again.

thinking ruins that. thinking, constructs my self in my correct age, and spoils the moment as quickly as vinegar sours the milk. i know that i cant be a kid. i know that im not a kid. yet, the simple moments where i forget that... where i can stop and refrain myself from thinking about it all, are the moments where i couldnt be farther from childhood. as a child, you never needed to escape. i never needed a way to run or hide or delude myself about life; about the way it ought to be, or about the flakes falling to the earth. as a child, the simplicity is bliss; not the ignorance of the facts. as an adult, i look out and watch the flakes settling on pavement that is far too warm to accumulate. i watch some of the flakes stop and cling to the tips of the greenish brown grass before they melt and leave the blades slick and shiny. it isnt the knowledge that the snow wont stick, its the thought process expecting the worst before the flakes have a chance to freeze the ground. its the difference between a child and the adult in me.

the onset of winter seems to be a gloomy time for most people. for me, thats fall. fall is death. not the approach of death, but death in its final throes. the entrance of winter is the silence after the fact. and if spring is the rebirth, then some where between the final breath and the first light, comes the conception. to me, thats winter. winter is the blankness of a page, the pleasantness of the unknown, with the coldness of a new begining. winter is a stark begining that covers the failures of the past, blankets the dead, and allows us a chance to see a rebirth for what it will be. winter is coming soon i hope, the adult in me misses what it means.