Outside my window the street lights illuminate the falling snow, little flickering dots that move slowly in the deep of night. The streets are messy from the traffic, and whatever beauty there was in the air lands upon browned snow and ice. The sensation of smell is gone in the winter. The cold blankets life and its plethora of scents – of blooming flowers, of swaying tree branches, of fresh produce in the sidewalks, of ice cream melting down a wafer cone.
The touch of wood, and its subdued yet invigorating smell. Smooth to the touch of your fingers gracing its surface, yet deeply etched from years of growth. The simple pleasure of laying beneath the open sky, and contemplating the placement of rocks. The beauty of silences that are… just that: silent. rare, but tangible.
But none of that matters. They are just words that fail to fill the empty spaces.
Now the skies could fall
Not even if my boss should call
The world it seems so very small
‘Cause nothing even matters at all