i can see the words you’re screaming in the frost

one of the first things i did in my university dorm room was hang coloured twinkle lights from the ceiling.

to this day, some of my favourite memories are of that year. mostly in the winter when we’d gather on the window sill, or huddle into my tiny single bed and look out at the freshly fallen snow, talking well into the wee hours of the morning about nothing and everything. ours was the biggest room, so it was a natural gathering place. a room with a view.

whenever it’s the first snowfall of the year, i think about that year and midnight snowball fights. too drunk, or happy, to feel the cold night air. time stood still in the silence of it all.

i think that’s what i miss the most, the silence. the silence you can only appreciate when you’re being loud.

now everything is loud, but through external forces.

work. expectations. the grocery list. bills. life.

it gets so loud, piling worlds on top of each other, not to mention the promises.

i want the silence to scream through.

even then, i’m not sure you’d listen.



Filed under honeybees, writing

4 responses to “i can see the words you’re screaming in the frost

  1. Beautiful, so evocative. I find myself craving the silence lately too and having trouble finding it. The stillness that used to come so easily to my brain seems to be alluding me these days. Perhaps it’s an epidemic.

  2. Thanks, Barb. It really seems to be an epidemic. Perhaps the new year will bring some clarity. One can hope.

  3. westcoastwalker

    Stillness or quiet moments are elusive to me. I think “epidemic” is an appropriate word to use. Out attentions are increasingly spread thin by a multiplicity of demands and endless sensory input, and I think this era we live in is fundamentally changing the structure of our brains, making us contiually alert and reactive, but seemingly unfocused and scattered at the same time. Silence is difficult to achieve in this context.

    Space for the sacred is important, and I think it takes a very concerted effort to achieve this. I remember fondly the year after I finished high school staying up all night with a group of friends. A few of us made a pact to remain awake until the candle we had burning on top of an empty wine bottle completely burned itself out and fizzled into extinction. In the stillness we watched the flickering light and the changing pattterns of the dripping wax as it crawled down the bottle, saying nothing and sharing knowing glances.

    How to find the dripping candle now?

  4. Definitely feel the “unfocused and scattered” with all the varying technologies calling on attentions throughout the day.

    I love that image. Feels so innocent now. And those nights seem so very far away.

    Thank-you for sharing. :)

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