Zorba the Hutt (zorbathut) wrote,
Zorba the Hutt

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It's snowing outside. It just started a little bit ago, and already the ground is white. The snow's falling basically straight down - an oddity. The tops of buildings are turning whitish, and I can see the bikes beginning to be buried. It'll take a while. It won't get far, of course - it'll snow a bit, then stop. That's how it always works.

It's really pretty.

I want to look out at the snow for hours, and just watch it pile up. But I can't. My mind quickly wanders and I wish to be doing something else. Imagine the things that you could be doing as a plane, with peaks and valleys, and the mind gravitates towards valleys. Snow-watching is on a very steep slope - perhaps a peak. It's something that my mind falls away from - it doesn't feel like it's being useful, even if it's something I want to do.

Being with someone else is a valley. I could cheerfully curl up with someone and look out the window, and watch the snow pile up.

There's no good place to do that in Oberlin that I've found. Even location-wise. The beds aren't high enough - it's not enough to see the snow falling, I want to see it landing, even though I can't. I'd need a little nook, near a window. It would be cold there, of course. But that's what blankets are for.

More important, I'd need a person to curl up with . . .

It's strange. I started this log entry thinking that I was feeling lonely. Then I looked out the window and decided to write about snow. Then I decided to write about how emotions and weather reflect each other. Then I decided to simply write about what the emotions and weather inspired in me.

I seem to have done all of them at once.

I look out, and snow coats the ground.

I want to be the snow.
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