winter landscape near a village, c. 1610-15. hendrick avercamp,
oil on panel, museum of fine arts, boston
the difficult month of feburary just left the driveway and we all breathed out a long sigh with relief. shortest month of the year, however, in north america, this year's february has been particularly brutal, full of snow, sludge and heavy ceiling sky with opaque, grey low clouds. no end of grey. unlike the spring rain, which leaves a hint of echo, fragmented silence with each drop, the snow kept coming, muting the deafening silence of stasis, death and melancholy- waking many pensive memories from the past: the things that no longer are, the people who no longer are, the person i wanted to be...
perhaps the rare bright sunshine over the lake ontario this afternoon is seeking forgiveness. from ourselves. from failing ourselves. from grieving ourselves.
my parents are going through difficult times with their business. a friend left this world with six-heart-splitting letters: cancer. ive came home at times to shed tears, peeling off the daily scarring- only to earn some more the day after. a very little prometheus monkey, trying to bring in some light to the grey days- then failing, taking little words of hurt and bringing them home, carefully picking them up, one by one, and pierce it through the heart, hoping that i could be better through it.
i grieve in winter, as winter wakes many ghosts of the past.
but may be it'll be all okay. after all, after every feburary, we do get march.
and march always tries with its might, to remind us that we are on the upward swing. to the peak of the sun. apollonian triumph.
a slow, lugubrious greeting to the world from this monkey.
after all, it is okay to be sad. as there is much beauty in sadness.