Winter's Lament

The sun is heavy;

Already tired as she moves

Pregnant, full

Across the November sky.

Nay, it is December,

And her weight is born

Of the same cause

As my worn forgetfulness.

It is slowing time.

Molasses, gathers in our blood,

Yet we ignore

This call to hibernate.

Unnatural creatures,

Rarely giving pause

To surmise the design

Making our fellow mammals rest;

Oh soft, how they move,

Shaking their heads,

For they know the pace

 To which the race ends.

 -JMS

This is an original poem that I penned at the birth of winter last year (2009) and haven't shared with the world until now.  I can't say I currently feel quite as introspective as I did at the time I wrote it, but I think that's all the more reason to post it now.  I'm quite busy, and happy to be, as most of my free-time work is centered around art and creation, a point for which I am grateful.  Freelance projects seem to be knocking at my door regularly now (thank you to those of you who have a hand in that!), and I have the outlines of a plan for my future forming in my head, after many long months of self actualization drought.  All of that in mind, it still seems important to remember a slower, more natural pace.  For even though my life, as governed by our society, cannot currently rest for the winter months, I can find example in the creatures who wait patiently for their Spring to come.