The air in our neighbourhood has been full of falling white puffiness
all day. It has sucked the colour out of the background and my
enthusiasm for shoveling. I know that the frozen tire ruts and ice
chunks still lie under all that smooth, leprous Wonderland, and I
know I will not enjoy the shocks my shovel will deliver to my wrists,
shoulders and spine when it runs into all those little surprises lurking.

I know, I know: it’s a winter Wonderland and all that crap, White Christmas
jingle bells and so on; but it just makes me want to wrap up in a shawl
and play old guy for a while. And please don’t try to cheer me up
by singing Christmas Carols, they make me want to be jolly, and I don’t.
I really sympathize with Scrooge: while his position derived from
mean-spiritedness, there is a lot of forced levity that seems to require
copious amounts of booze to happen at all. Christmas is a favorite season
for checking out; we seem to have set it up so that if you don’t have
the requisite fluffy/sparkly/aromatic/cozy family love in, you can get pretty
depressed. The predominance of darkness really doesn’t help that either.

So here I am, at the bottom of the space, having been pretty depressing,
and I’m looking for a way out into the sparkly sunshine that is bound to
follow; it always does. And of course that is because fluffy snow is
a very reflective substance. And I guess that’s what it has going for it.
Fluff can be substantial, even if it is full of air, as is your humble, etc.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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