Before The Snow

John Coltrane - Spiritual

On the way home, the cold became a biting animal, gnawing at my skin like a mangy dog fighting for dear life. Another summer faded to a distant memory now akin to a forgotten dream. The streets remain the same and the lights shine just as brightly but as with the seasons, memories have now faded to black. Still writing innocuous rubbish.

Breathing in, lifeless needles of steel burst down my throat and into my lungs yet I still choose to walk forward. It's only just cold but there is something to be heard in the screaming winds; the messages it carries are dulled into whispers and all one can do is retreat into a warm cocoon.
Once the snow came, the beauty outshined the cold. Somehow it never feels cold when the snow comes.

...and it will all disappear as suddenly as it came, only to be forgotten once again.