If you've read anything by me previously, you know that I fucking despise winter with a passion that can't be equalled. It's not just the cold, or the snow...it's the whole thing about how every goddamn thing is dead, and places that were once vibrant and green and beautiful are now gray and dead.
Maybe it doesn't matter so much to regular folks who work inside, or who live in the cities and don't see too much of nature anyway. When you are outside for the better part of the day, every day, you notice this kind of shit, though. They're little things, like when I stack pallets and the wood is frigid. Sometimes I go to pull one off of the ground, and don't see the black ice under the third or fourth board, and nearly pull myself over when the thing doesn't go anywhere. When I take a cigarette break, there are no birds chirping, weaving their way through the faded willows that drape over the stone yard in something that looks like a million black raindrops falling sideways....
Yea, it's fuckin seasonal depression, and I know everyone gets it. But I fucking hate it, and with a passion. Being something of a man of the Earth, of a guy who likes the woods and nature and rivers and waterfalls, I feel like a part of me dies off every November when the winds grow cold and the clouds lie low.
Whether or not this part of me returns in the spring is something I'm unsure of.