In the Details

In the Details

I stood at the edge of the bed today to fold the laundry. The huge windows don't let in much light on these overcast afternoons in late winter.
The room is a mess, no matter how many time I promise myself I will pull myself together and clean. Stacks of things that haven't found a place or are simply out of place compete with the layer of dust for someone's attention.
I can hear the wind working around: the flag out front snaps, like a cheap firecracker, while the old coal stove exhaust behind the headboard emits short puffing sounds as the bitterness tries to sneak its way into the house.
Downstairs, you can hear the wind howl around the back of the house, mournful and profound. Such howling started when we built the outlying garage and I'm oddly grateful for it. I hear the moan and feel less lonely inside, more appreciative of these walls that surround me.
I am chilled down to the core and feel stifled in these clothes meant to keep me warm. I soak up hot beverages in vast quantities but it hardly touches the cold;
I am tense: against the cold, with the anticipation of sunshine, out of fear that the dark coldness will never go away.
No matter how often I live through this stage of winter I always lose confidence that spring will come again. One day, my fatalistic heart believes, the sun won't shine anymore and I will be lost here forever.