(yup it's a long and totally pointless post, because you all know what cold is)
an unfamiliar, large empty room with high ceilings. An eerie line of light from a gap where the blinds don't quite meet the width of the windows. The deepest winter night, wrapped up in a thick blanket with the heater on full blast and all windows closed; but still freezing.
chilling winds gently rocking a lift chair suspended high above the slopes. Sitting with no assurance that the heavy skiis attached to your boots will not plummet into the (deceptively soft) white snow below. Hands numb from wet gloves, clasping tightly to the metal rails.
sitting on a lone bench in the middle of a park with stretches of grass on all sides. A park from which, in the distant horizon, a row of high rises can be seen. Not believing that the vast spaces are empty, wondering if anyone hides behind the night cover. Shivering uncontrollably inside a fur coat.
breathing out a magical ball of mist with every puff you let out. Marvelling at it like a child; knowing it's condensation but being fascinated nonetheless.
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Cold is...
Posted by
bitingtravels
on Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Labels:
angry,
depressing,
joy and beauty,
writing
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