*First draft, feel free to comment.
I have always celebrated the sun and warmth of summer as a kind of release from the rigid realities of winter. Blinding pain and pleasure sizes my pupils into tiny dots. I am suddenly malleable. A drug soaks into my skin, constantly seeking elation. The change in temperature changes who I am.
The warm and beckoning sun lightens my heart and soul. But gone are my layers of protection. Finally, I bask in the joy of naked sunlight. The pleasure of a warm dusky night changes who I am. Calmly, the light reflects who I will always be. A chill wind nips my neck. Laughing at disconsolate girl.
As the winter comes I fear the harsh realities that are sure to creep up again. The cold, damp air shears what little color my skin has. Layers peel and a chill creeps to the surface. Pieces, warm and tanned, turn and stress against a callous edge.
I draw up my task with efficiency. One by one I wrap my body with soft, dry layers that distract from the unrelenting cold. Deeper I bury myself into my cozy den. Finally, I have a reason to exclude myself from the activities and social necessities. I am unchanging and unrelenting. Starkly I observe my detachment.
The winter is harsh and unrelenting.
With all of the foliage clear and the warmth of the sun gone, intentions will seem as clear as day. As it is in nature, this transition is often stark and harsh. Many limbs break from the weight of the first snow.
As they are shed, without regard, they are tossed aside. Once green and vibrant, they are now decayed and rotted. There is no doubt that their infrastructure will not sustain.
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