Winter.
This morning on my commute through the city into the suburbs for work I noticed everything looking so... grey.
I composed this on my voice recorder... and edited here for your pleasure.
Winter in Chicago
Cold.
Dreary.
Grey.
Everything the color of ash
Everything the color of death
really everything the color of not waiting
but of having given up.
Underneath the summer waits.
Bouncing green sprigs of grass.
The ridiculous foliage of the trees in August.
It's waiting.
Its more like
Less Like
Hibernating
More like waiting to be resurrected like the bird born of ash
you know the one.
That's the beauty and magic of Chicago.
If you can get through the disgusting winter, the ash, the death.
Ok. It is a little high school melodramatic, but I am so tired of the colorless sky and earth. Everything the same shade of dirty. Yearning for the pop of pink in a little girl's snowsuit.
