January 16, 2000: A need for change
What is it about winter’s armor that I can’t bare to look at? While I sleep, do my colors disappear as well? The forest is that of damp brown and gray—branches that point in every direction. There are vines without leaves gracefully wrapped about. I can see for miles. An owl leaps out at me in slow motion, only to make his way to the highest tree…never seemingly in question. What is it about winter’s armor that I can’t bare to look at? Am I afraid to be a kid again or does the adult self no longer locate stumps to sit and listen?