Winter, for better or worse, is the space held for life--it's a pause in the cycle, a pause to renew, restock, re-nourish the soil. In the frozen death of frigidity and in the hallows of wind, life lies, under the crusted protection of ice, in wait. In the bareback cold, miniature mites die off, fleas, mosquitos get the hypothermic ax, while other lovelies dig deep and hibernate. Can we find a warm place to stave off the languishing silence of winter?
I will hold this space for life anew.
I'm not waiting for spring, though, don't mince my words, love. I'll shiver and shake here for awhile in this cold, dark place, and when the sun comes back, I'll shine brighter for the downtime, no?
Let's dance, motherfuckers. Shake that ass.