International Writers Magazine: Seasons
Chill to Make You Think
cold comes as the leaves turn and drop, the seasonal change. This
kind of cold is expected. This isnt the same cold that can
show up any day of the year, inside, the troubling chill, a shiver
inducing hint of passing time, all things temporary, a passing
on and away. Perhaps foreshadowing the cold grave.
in these ice pick sharp moments, everything as clear as that glowing
winter horizon at sunset. A sudden sense of mortality brushes your throat
with a finger and you swallow hard, your eyes wide and powerless under
It comes even in the warm and hot seasons, and is no respecter of latitudes.
It can go up and down your spine on a baking beach, or shadow your face
as you pour summer sweat on a mountain top. It can slap you in the puss
when you see a half rotted carcass on the trail or roadside.
You, like everyone, strive for a basic and essential warmth, clawing
your way up the broad and impersonal sides of life, scratching (and
perhaps a little desperately) at your days, another feisty animal turning
the trick in the conscious hours, pushing that cold clarity away with
routine activity. You might even thrill to what is, every day, a potential
victory of sorts. It is the striving, and the possible
results, that keep you going, sometimes to the point of basking in the
glow of your achievements. Until those times when, like a boxer with
your gloves raised (a triumph of the human spirit), unsuspecting, a
cold, direct, undeniable blow takes your wind away, bringing a cold
sweat, and with relief, you gratefully accept the fact that you have
only been staggered, temporarily, that you can still recover (reach
deep for yet another flurry), and that you havent been taken out
© M. Blake December 2006
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