winter is here.
something about the cold
makes the sky bluer
and the way that my body shakes,
a kind of revulsion really,
feels like a clarifying kind of winnowing.
even gripping the steering wheel
can't stop the way that cold makes my arms shiver.
the violent insistent beauty of cold.
the purity of just trying to survive in the world.
knowing that the imaginary problems at work
can't even touch the truth of this
raw pure experience.
people who have never been cold like this (I sometimes think)
don't actually understand how serious the world is.
its too easy to imagine the world as a backdrop,
a field, upon which I am the figure, the actor, the agent.
but cold corrects that conceit.