Too early for Christmas cheer and too late for Thanksgiving smiles – a strange hiatus… a fracture – an unwelcome pause in the festal parade that heralds the chill onset of winter. As the dark days crowd in the bare earth shrinks from the bruising cold, iron hard and unforgiving as pain.
Vainly we try to disguise our fear of the bleak days to come: Torpid fingers, waxy from the chill air, clumsily fuss with glitter, tinsel and cheery greetings in flowery script upon cards bearing bright-eyed robins, cheekily perched upon garden implements.
It is an illusion – beneath the hearty warmth of seasonal cheer lurks the febrile touch of winter’s hidden depths… and as the last guest leaves, sporting alcohol-ruddy cheeks, a cruel gust of chill wind breathes upon us, whispering in icy sibilants… “here is fear; here is truth; here is pain and sorrow… here is Alt. life:“