It is winter, it is cold, and it is dark.
It is winter, it is cold, and it is dark. Two wool lined slippers, sides touching and perfectly arranged, sit at the foot of my bed. I have warmly cocooned myself under a mountain of blankets, and sleepily murmur in the cold dark. Groggy, I slap at the snooze button situated atop the clock radio when the red iridescent numbers read 7, 3, and 0 in that particular order. Eventually at some point in the near future I will rise, into this cold winter blackness, starting my morning before even the sun. I slip my already stockinged feet into the wool casings before they can even touch the floor. Blindly, I grab at and don an oversized sweater before I finish my descent down the steps from my loft. I feel like a bear in the spring, except I repeat this ritual, this rousing from my hibernation, on a daily basis. White milk splashes off the top of oats and grains and raisins and other various healthy flakes that are recommended for me to eat. I feel like a horse as I slowly chew my cud and sip my microwave warmed water as I stare out the window watching as subtle hues of color begin to streak across the blackness from the horizon. It is winter, it is cold, and it is dark. Soon I will envelope myself in a warm cloud of mist, the hot water streaming down off my head and onto the skin of my sensitive shoulders, and by the time I emerge from my steam bath the sun will have crested above the mountains and filled my apartment with its life giving light and warmth. Logic dictates to me that this is most likely a placebo effect perpetrated by my relieved mind but I ignore this as I wrap my body in wool and furs in preparation for my treacherous journey to the bus stop. Laced boots up crunch frozen snow, with tread that make me feel like Sherpa as I weave between the slipping and stumbling morning commuters in their fashionable functionless ensembles. The biting winds choke and fleshy tips become numb as I stand waiting for a bus that will be wildly flagged down once it approaches. The warmth of its superheated interior will wash over me like a tropical breeze and after scarves, hats, and gloves have been stripped and pulled from my body, I can exhale. It is winter, it is cold, and it is dark.
Camera: Nikon D3100, 18-55mm lens