It was a decisive thing, this advent. Not like some events, which aren't that discrete, and have very fuzzy boundaries, and sort of leak into each other from one part of the cycle to the next. No, this time I stepped out in the morning and I knew it was winter, when yesterday it had not been.

There's a certain quality to Ithaca when the season's winter. There's a taste, so unique, in the crystal brilliance of the morning sunlight glittering off the myriad facets of diamond snow. It's hard and it can cut, like the wind a living sheet of ice. But it's perfectly clear and clean as well.

When you bend your head down, jam your hands deeper into your pockets, hunch your shoulders, and wish you were some kind of turtle - you know that another aspect of winter, Ithaca winter, Cornell winter, is the undertone, the plainsong chant beneath the discants of busily humming life - is that you're in for the long haul. Your head's down, your legs and back are straining as you pull your heavy load through the drifting snow. Until the darkness lifts, you will be pressed down, a hard claw of coldness pushing down on the nape of your neck.

The oppression's but a temporary state. Sometime in the far distant future you know you'll transition out of it. The sun will shine, the snow will melt, and you'll be able to look up again. For that, you'll keep trudging doggedly onwards.

dreaming down highways - 2005-03-20

when the day was bright and new - 2005-03-18

meat - 2005-03-17

singular occurrences - 2004-12-25

pomposity (concerning ideals) - 2004-12-23