Södertälje Winter

Circa February 2010

And if you could know
the intense loneliness of that winter
in that tiny barn
in that tiny room
that smelled of
nothing
but stale clothes and Man
and then again, nothing.
Cold, scentless air that didn't move
beneath the equally motionless gray sky
above the snow that buried everything
if you could hear that silence
and if you could smell that nothingness
and if you could know that utter solitude
of self and soul
where everything was gray and still as death...

then might you faintly grasp
at the beauty of summer
the assaulting smells of flowers
and fresh earth
warm and brown and sweet
filling the nostrils
piercing the memory
and warm sun upon the face
and upon the arms
and upon the entire world
and the people thawed and moving
and laughing
and everyone in a quasi-delirious happiness
that they cannot notice
because it is everywhere, in everyone, and they may feel it
but they cannot bring words to it
just live in it
and the smell of charcoal
and meat on the grill
and wine in the glass
and tree blossoms on the little path
and the rocks warmed in the light
and everything alive, flooding, up, over, through and again...
it is curious and painfully wonderful
to be reminded that there is so much Life that follows Death.