december is like the spring of winter. it is fresh, new, enticing with cold breath down your neck, melted by warm touch. it is the prospect of spring, but in a sharp cold. seasonal mismatch.
i often try to disconnect the name from the time. like how august is so definitely a fall word, yet stuck inside summer. almost bound, in a way. tethered to the season, tangibly, but in my heart "august" will be autumn, "may" will be summer, "december" will be spring.
renewal is such a foreign concept to me, the idea of becoming, again, is like resetting spring to the first bud. looping over and over, never fully blooming. cold bites at the leaves, but not long enough for it to wilt. december is like that. the ritual of lighting candles, hanging glass, watching snow, ice on pavement, and gold-lined letters.
snow washes itself along the darkness of the pavement, a stark contrast to the idealized winter- we always seem to think about string lights and fires during december.
light the matches now while you still can and i'll watch as december waltzes away from us as the time slips past. because winter and december, being as stoic as they are, are fluid when it comes to change.
and back to "renewal", i'd like to say now that the type of renewal that december offers is a polar opposite of january's. december is the prospect of a blank slate, the energy accumulated and the hopes and dreams of new buds.
january is the clean slate; the anticipation is lost and the wonder of becoming. you have nothing left to do in january because you are disappointed you do not have everything you wanted already.
i hate january/love december, their sharp differences refreshing.
as i've said in november; family is blessing, it is unifying and whole, cumbersome in weight, but it is sacred. family is december. december, the new bud of solid ice, is everlasting and holy, sacred and whole. it is beautiful that it can become, terrifying that it is new.
to restate "ritual", this calling of december as "spring" is a ritual in it of itself. the beuaty that is frozen in time is rigid but not docile, its repetition enticing. the future and past intertwined in its present.
quoting october; "there is still only the “is” and “was”. “will be” is still too distant for me to fathom." this acknowledgement of time was something so monumental to me. it is refreshing and revitalizing, it is the spirit of spring, except against an autumn background.
clean slate of december is forever, january's is distant. maybe the true benevolence came in the form of disconnection.
seperation as means to reunite.
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