No winter's a friendly time of the season, when alone and left feeling the desitute of isolation, in the crisp nights air. Only compounded if hearing the sheets of rain, or the deafening silence of flakes of snow, floating down to a steady build up of frozen swells of powdery water. Only amplifying the sensory eeriness of being adrift in a sea of pristine untouched surroundings, that time has moved away from showing any change, as it brings on a icy halt to all things around, from its absence.
Only the crunching of your own steps to keep your ears knowing they're hearing only your wondering's amongst the nights stillness.
Day break comes, slow an low over the horizon, awakening the turn-moil of others expectations, and hurried to the years events of celebration. Reminding myself of a lack of means for bringing a cheer to a loved ones face, or reasons for all that it matters. For finding oneself utterly alone yet again. With a steady streams of reflections of seasons past, melting a stifling cry. That barges thru, leaving me wondering if It'll be to hard to remember what a smile is like on these days, with loved ones and friends.
Outside of my own thoughts, I pick up hearing bickering of who's the reason for this yearly event. Why others should be caring how others celebrate, or if they know why their taught the time is set aside each year on these days. For sure seems only a few in these lands, know or care to keep the lore of the stories alive, as others faiths in keeping the hijacking alive. Leaving them the lord in stating why its so, as the days pass on by to the main event.
Some folx are not shy to complain of a war to snuff away their faith in there special days on these last moons waxing an waning. Might as well right it on the snow, for they have little need to change their ways, to set right whats been taken away from others at the start to this time long ago, Even stealing away a chance for the new ones to see the richness of passing ages that kept it sacred, all those hundreds of centuries ago.
At the time when we were less than a multitude, where it was more true that eyes were always upon us. When being alone, was a guarantied ending to ones story.
Those days of taking shelter spanning longer than a mere week. With our kindred and critters close by, huddling for warmth, by a crackling fire. Popping stories of the past an whats to come around again, as another yearly waiting for the tilt to spin us once again, into another season of warmth, an blossoming of the nature around us each an every moment of our living days, on this blue sparkling diamond amongst the countless other stories taken place up along the shimmering sea of pin lights up in the boundless depths of the eternal sky.