and within me lives an eternal summer

I peaked through my jungle curtains in the midst of painting, my fingers covered in colour I tried to open the curtain and look at the snowflakes slowly falling down. Yesterday when the night got dark small, fragile diamonds were falling from the sky, sparkling wonders. I remembered again the beauty of winter, enjoyed the darkness while it hugged me and I freely stepped into the momentary wonderland.

I fill my life with colours, I look at pictures with turquoise ocean and I miss the warmth. My heart longs for an environment that does not wear me out. That gives energy instead of taking it. I look down at the falling snowflakes and think about how lucky I am to experience all of this. I look at the falling snowflakes and want to run outside and dance with them.

Grey covers the sky and the sun barely lifts its head to say hi. In the darkness, lights shine brighter, but something makes me also wish I was somewhere else. Makes me long for the warmth. Longingly I remember a time when I lived by the beach, when cold was a rare luxury. I look around me and wonder what I am doing here, I wonder where I am.

Fatigue takes over my body, tickles it, asks to snuggle in a blanket and take time to myself. My inner sun wants to explode the darkness away, wants to dance through the day, sink my hands in paint, let words freely float. The sun is already setting below the horizon and in the dusk, I wonder how the colours look in the light, how the colours will look when life again returns to us.

Winter is a wonderful time. Contradictory, sweet, sad, sticky and splashy. I let the paint dry and curl up in a blanket with One Hundred Years of Solitude. That is what this winter feels like, One Hundred Years of Solitude, a collective loneliness, the togetherness of oneness. I rise to write down the words that have been circling in my head all day, trying to take form, trying to emerge. Here they now are, slightly incoherent, tangled, vague. Maybe describing this feeling, how the forever dull grey affects the mind, body, being. How the rain of crystals produce a smile on my lips and how the seashell resting on my left arm reminds me of love.

Every day I stop to look at that tiny seashell, the one I picked from the beach when the sun was still warm and the waves crashed into an empty beach. There we lay, content, happy, trusting life, trusting love. When I came home I threaded the seashell on a leather string and said, now I always carry the ocean with me. In truth I carry a reminder of love, love in its purest form, as grand as the ocean, I just was not brave enough to voice it aloud back then.

The snowflakes have turned into rain and I turn to wash my dirty hands. I look at how the water runs in and out of the seashell. I look, and I remember, remember that perfect moment and I step into love, trust and light. I look at the water float and accept that we have to be emptied out before we can be filled up again.

With love,
Ida

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