The Smell Of Green

Tempting is the thought of warmth in the face of sour wind. Pushing through the air, thick with the microbial crystals of ice, breathing heavily and sharply inhaling feeling the chill I move through. The scent of Winter is short lived. Gone are the odours of living things, gone is the
smell of green. Instead, the air, a life giver so easily forgotten in the summer months, is remembered with a frantic and suffocating weight that pulls me in yet forces me away from walking on. Cold. Cold is not the right word to use, for it implies simply an absence of warmth. The
Winter is so much more than absence. Winter is
presence. The presence of nature, static, yet not
dead, not giving up, fighting on, holding on. Remembering and hoping for the sun. The presence of Community, a collective spirit, not
spoken or noticed, simply understood. Yet it is the acceptance of mortality, a reminder of our complete isolation. For flora and fauna, Winter is about survival, for us its more than that, its survival with an axe to
grind. Defeating the Winter is like reaching the summit of an insurmountable peak without anyone to notice. We all
experience Winter, we let it pass us by, the trials and strains
of the darker times go uncredited. The accomplishment of man is ignored. Survival, it seems, is meant to be gained without approval
or recognition. It is something we all share.
Winter is hard time for everyone. Everywhere. Every year. Forever.