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I'm jealous Midlands, and other people with snow. I am dead jealous. I'm totally not over snow yet. I keep looking up at the sky and going Come on, come on, just one more little flake, but so far -nada.

It's raining though, which somehow isn't the same.

All week I've watched the snow becoming tarnished and broken, or freezing into ice. It has made me melancholy and prone to accidents.

And now but for a dusting in the garden, it's all gone. I feel bereft, like I've lost something.

Z keeps looking up at the sky in the same hopeful way every morning, but it's mostly because he just wants another excuse to work from home again. Philistine.

Snow brings out my ultimate nesting fantasy. It makes me want to pile up blankets around everyone and snuggle together where it's safe and warm. It's like I spent my past life as a bear and still haven't caugh onto the whole Working Throughout Winter Rather Than Eating And Sleeping.

Snow reminds me of home. No matter how long I have lived here, no matter how much I love England, I still don't feel right here. Things taste and smell wrong. But snow blurs things; the lines between worlds. It smudges time like a thumbrint on charcoal.

And then I am in two places at once. Looking out into my garden and being lifted onto my father's shoulders so I can see the snow on the roofs. Walking to work but also walking in a different place, with fir trees and hills you can zoom down on, on your sled. Smelling the frost on my father's coat, having snowball fights.

Loss walks with me, always has. I resign myself to my two worlds, but I long for the one I cannot have. Winter brings out my melancholy. Yearning increases with the dying of the light. And I long most of all, to undo myself for a while. Stop time for a sleep and dream of what I've lost. The sea, the fields, the land I belonged in. My father.

I love the life I have, and the people I have in it. But I think I would be happiest if every once in a while - a couple of days a month perhaps, I could simply unexist myself for a while. Dissolve into light, into air. Become something stark and ordinary. The shadow of a tree, the flight of crows.

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minnesattva
Feb. 7th, 2009 12:26 am (UTC)
Snow reminds me of home. No matter how long I have lived here, no matter how much I love England, I still don't feel right here. Things taste and smell wrong. But snow blurs things; the lines between worlds.

YES! Yes yes yes. I have been trying to say this for days, and falling far short of this, so not posting it at all. This is exactly what I need, and now I want to spiral a whole essay around it but that's not fair because it's not my words and these are so perfect that now I don't know what else I could say anyway. :)
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