Thursday, 27 January 2011

seasonal shift



Did you know that things have changed? Did you realise that the seasons have shifted like tectonic plates or old industrial machinery covered with spider webs, material parts and dead skin? Winter came and everything grinded to a halt and snow came and everything was so unbelievably still. So still that no-one thought movement would come again. Then the ground turned to caster sugar, then demerera, and back to moist black and brown. Winter threatens each year to linger, damp fog clinging and never willing to relinquish it's grasp on all in existence. But inevitably the old grinder cranks and clunks back to life, with the impatient gradual increase of a steam train pulling away. Winter is the industrial age, devoid of colour. An acromatic world of tones and metallic textures. Silence and white noise.

It changed though, and you didn't even notice. All caught up in your own era of change. Things are moving now, so slowly, but moving. You will notice it too, once it is apparent to the surface senses. I noticed it a few weeks ago, in the senses below. It is a feeling. It is in the air, at first not to see or to smell. It is like a chemical reaction to the change in daylight. It is a colour; a tinge that alters everything light touches. It is there already.

I tried to smell it this morning, but it is too immature yet. I openend the bay and all I could smell was the city. It is a transition. I couldn't smell winter, yet spring was still too far away. I smelled food, drink from the shops. I tried the back, hopeful for something more normal. I imagine I smelled it, the smell of the air affected with sunshine and growth. I smelled the same diluted. It's soon though. It's on its way.

I love this time of year. There is hope and knowledge that change will come gradually and upwards as things open, emerge, warm and sprawl. Soon it will be seeds and loungers, water and colour and heat.




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