Winter nights

In my apartment here in the Swedish Highlands the view outside the window offers little but a few trees, a huge empty lot between other apartments designed by the same architect and streets were cars pass by to pick up their kids after work.

The trees are naked trees, devoid of foliage and the month is near the winter solstice. I stare looking how the weather behaves from the inside of my apartment.

What I appreciate the most is the silence that surrounds me looking as I stare at the outside. I feel the warmth of the indoors as well as I feel the cold seeping through the glass and wonder if have insulated the window frame from the penetrating chilled gust of winds who insist in reminding me who is in town,

My eyesight turns to the settled snow in the rooftops and the tree branches which are swayed to and fro by a wind more powerful than I dare feel for myself.

What captivates my imagination is not the cold aspect of it all but the concert of music and dance wind and snow display in their being as each one of them touch each other. One lifted by the air and the other one painting the path it takes as it swishes mid-air. Am I hearing surround sound in mute mode?

It is as if sand in its lightness hit me though I know it is not sand but cold snowflakes who overstayed their stay on the roof.

Even the frost covered branches coloured white by the subzero temperatures grace the empty nothingness of the everyday. and in their path stillness, quietness and nothingness are one, are, a being for themselves for me, as I can only but see them collected and coolheaded.

This is what I see.


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