Infinite Roses

So I’ve fallen into this thing. The thing in question, is that I look at this space and I panic, because so much has happened that I can’t figure out where to possibly begin, to contain and summarize and explain what the last three months of my life have looked like. Every time I try I freeze, or fail, or flail around for a while and delete the draft.

Really, I know better than this. I should just start in the middle of things. It’ll work it’s way out eventually.

Two days ago, the weather in Montreal changed from a deep, lazy fall into a sudden and unforgiving winter. Huge, cottony snowflakes have been falling, and this morning the temperature went down to -9 with a wind warning. Everything is diamond bright and I’m finally, finally not overwarm all of the time. I love the change in seasons, but the suddenness of it, the drama, means that my sleep is wrecked and my extremely weird, active dream life has gone bonkers. Everything feels thin and raw and close to the surface.

While walking to get a coffee this morning, a man threw a rose at me from a moving car.

This might sound like a romantic gesture, something vaguely out of a fairytale. Except, I have no idea who the fellow was, and the car was moving quite fast, and he winged it at my head as hard as he could. One of the thorns left a little, ragged scratch on my chin.

So things are weird, is what I am trying to say. Trying to explain exactly how weird, and why, and in what combination, is something I’m not even going to attempt in one go. The solution, of course, is to just capture what I can, strange little slices, and hope over time it accumulates into something again. Going back and trying to sum it all up isn’t going to work. So, forward.

Winter is here, and I am in love. I’m dreaming of cathedrals made of volcanic glass and cold cities again. My exterior life is pretty much as weird as my interior one, which is actually very comforting.

Also, this remains one of my favourite things: