![The media file [Christian] is by CallahanFreet.](/artists/christian/christian_head_hu5cef231d8f4180b7a037182f38f41a4e_11594_800x0_resize_q82_h1_box_2.webp)
Soon you’ll be ashes, or bones. A mere name, at most — and even that is just a sound, an echo. The things we want in life are empty, stale, and trivial. Dogs snarling at each other…Wait for it patiently — annihilation or metamorphosis. Remember, nothing belongs to you but flesh and blood.
The beginning of February is always an interesting time. In the past this period of the year meant nothing to me, but here I’m contemplative with the changes implied by peak snow: this is my fall.
![The media file [Transitions] is by CallahanFreet.](/works/52weeks/2023/0204/20230204_huf3cd287a1395944b26eab67b2b5f3464_594946_800x0_resize_q82_h1_box_2.webp)
I work all winter to keep this path clear, yet I rarely use it otherwise. Sometimes I question that logic. But, walking isn't really its purpose — the path is more a source of meditation than transit, so maintaining it serves my purposes.
It seems like others celebrate the coming of the sun, but not me. I mourn the declining darkness of winter. Slumping wet snow is depressing. Birds, tree buds, and thawed soil are coming, but their arrival is too distant to be real.
What do I become as the snow melts? To know that, I should understand where I begin.
But do I?