Colourless

I find a lot to love in days gone grey, but when they meet up with a wetter white, I’m somewhat less enthused. The well-loved wonder in winter is more a thing of shimmering powder, hanging on branches and caught in the light. It’s not so joyous arriving too warm. Something about these days sends me off-center, like an instinctual creature suddenly divided from tracks and familiar landmarks. It doesn’t last much longer than the day it arrives, more rainfall coming to rush it down the drain. These times have taught me the value in marking a life that lies between beauty. I often encounter those who’ve excised all boredom and frustration from their nostalgic memories, which makes the present poor competition. But my childhood was sometimes cold and colourless, and my heart unfeeling in turn. As it was for us all. I insist on recording all elements of now — so I never forget it’s no worse than then.

November 17, 2025
Hampton, Nova Scotia

Year 19, Day 6581 of my daily journal.