|Some of my favourite drawings and paintings I've done.|
oday, I woke to the sound of rain.
In the loft where we sleep, there is a series of six windows encircling one corner, creating a large, panoramic view of the suburban street corner on which we live. Normally, we are assaulted by the light of a clear blue sky, sunlight pouring in happily and obliviously turning the loft into a giant oven which, coupled with the fact it’s halfway through October and we feel it should no longer be so warm out as to cause an uncomfortable amount of sweating while indoors in an unheated room, usually is not terribly pleasing to us.
Alternatively, we can leave the windows open. The temperature of mornings in the loft is improved, but in place of that slowly growing discomfort that ever so gradually lurches through morning bleariness until you’re filled with a horrible alarmed awareness that, if you don’t get up now, you may very well bake to death, there is traffic. Never-ending, constant traffic. Honking horns, screeching brakes, emergency sirens, and the aggressive roar of overzealous drivers with their muscle cars and motorcycles and presumably tiny genitalia. Suffice it to say, this is also not terribly pleasing to us.
But today, I woke to the sound of rain.
The light was soft, diffuse, rendering the world a gentle, muted grey. The sky was overcast, and it was raining; the traffic outside was turned instead to gently undulating waves of white noise as the sounds of tires over wet pavement pass by. This is clearly not what one would call a nice day, but in my estimation, it’s pretty much the best I could hope for.
I’m done with it being summer. Casey likes to describe winter as a necessary recovery period, the season that recharges and rejuvenates him like a splash of cold water to the face, allowing him the ability to enjoy the sweltering heat of summer when it inevitably comes again. He likes being cold, though. I don’t like being cold, but I do like the cold. Don’t get me wrong; summer can be nice, lazing about in the heat until you’re driven to seek refuge in the closest body of water, but it’s a lot less nice when you aren’t able to be lazy, and when you don’t have a lake, river, or ocean conveniently nearby to refresh you. You can be warm, and that’s nice, but it’s forced upon you. It's not a luxury - it's not even a choice.
It’s when it’s cold out that warmth becomes something special. It is, after all, the whole point of winter festivities: to seek light and warmth together, and to revel in your refuge of vitality and comfort you’ve forged for yourself, creating a little sphere of goodness in a world of darkness and cold. In the summer, there’s nothing particularly special about warmth, but when it’s cold, all of a sudden, mundane things become magical, if only because they are warm. Holding a cup of hot tea in your hands and letting the steam wash over your face; cuddling up beneath a blanket, and feeling the warmth of your loved one next to you, and listening to the sound of rain together; sitting before a fire, its warmth inexorably drawing people to its heat and light and vitality. Suddenly, these ordinary things become special; they become cozy, a kind of warmth that can only exist in the face of cold.
I know most people don’t like the cold, but especially since we have the luxury of so easily being able to find warmth in our world, maybe, just maybe, we shouldn’t be so hard on it.
Commissions - CLOSED
Last updated Oct 19th
- Q: Endless Realms (block 4 advance paid)
- Henry: phoenix/dragon series/lizard girl - 1%/15% (paid in full)
- BladeMcCloud: Flind - 0% (not paid)
- Caleb: map - 0% (not paid)
- benymol: ?? - 0% (not paid)
- Jon: ?? - 0% (paid, awaiting response)