(no subject)
Nov. 15th, 2021 09:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
evening_tsarThere they were, confronting me like ominous future phantoms:
Christmas trees.
This was in a Staples store. Later that night I saw others, looming in front windows, and accompanying light displays hanging over roofs and doors. They're here and I can't stop them.
I should clarify that I'm neither a Scrooge nor a Grinch: I like Christmas plenty, though not without a twinge of melancholy, which inevitably stems from the impossibly high emotional stakes society insists on imbuing in the season. I like it though in its proper context and season, that is to say December, and not a minute before.
I see no reason to rush on the advent of winter: it will come soon enough. My preference has always been to cling to the dwindling days of autumn ‘till the bitter end. At least to the very first snowfall (though thanks to climate change, this event can never be relied upon). But I tend to resent seasonal change whichever season we get: even the awakening of spring doesn’t feel right if the sleep of winter hasn’t been cold enough. For one thing, the further evidence of climate change depresses me. For another, the evidence of the passing time reminds me too much of my mortality – as if I needed any more reminders.
Another year. Minutes and seconds, minutes and seconds. . .
Christmas trees.
This was in a Staples store. Later that night I saw others, looming in front windows, and accompanying light displays hanging over roofs and doors. They're here and I can't stop them.
I should clarify that I'm neither a Scrooge nor a Grinch: I like Christmas plenty, though not without a twinge of melancholy, which inevitably stems from the impossibly high emotional stakes society insists on imbuing in the season. I like it though in its proper context and season, that is to say December, and not a minute before.
I see no reason to rush on the advent of winter: it will come soon enough. My preference has always been to cling to the dwindling days of autumn ‘till the bitter end. At least to the very first snowfall (though thanks to climate change, this event can never be relied upon). But I tend to resent seasonal change whichever season we get: even the awakening of spring doesn’t feel right if the sleep of winter hasn’t been cold enough. For one thing, the further evidence of climate change depresses me. For another, the evidence of the passing time reminds me too much of my mortality – as if I needed any more reminders.
Another year. Minutes and seconds, minutes and seconds. . .
