All posts tagged winter

Four Windows.

Published November 25, 2018 by April Fox

It just occurred to me that my house only has four windows in the entire place. That’s fewer than I had in my bedroom at the last place I lived. And I started to post something about it, basically like what the fuck guys, no wonder I’m in a funk… and then I thought about how that often leads folks to a presumption of ingratitude, wherein an acknowledgement of something that makes you sad is dismissed because look at all these other things that SHOULDN’T make you sad, and why can’t you just shove this heavy thing out of the way to give yourself a better view of the things we think are pretty? And that leads to the remembrance of all the times that people have said, not to me necessarily but just thrown out on social media, that either you are in complete control of your own happiness and are making a decision to be depressed because there is ALWAYS a bright side or that depression is some sort of noble badge you get to wear as a result of having weathered so many of life’s metaphorical storms with strength and grace, and both of those are of course utter bullshit.

Sadness is acute, and you are allowed to have that even when other things don’t make you sad. And depression is pervasive; it gets deep into your head and the reality is that sometimes you cannot see the good and sometimes there really isn’t any good (I swear if you tell me it’s good to just be breathing I will wish a swarm of yellowjackets upon your netherparts) and it’s not about where you’ve been, it’s not a sign of strength or weakness or malignant character, it simply IS. And sometimes there is help, and sometimes you just need to live in that. Sometimes you just need to have acknowledged that yes, there really aren’t enough windows in this place. Tomorrow I will get up and go to work and continue to find joy in many things, but for right this minute, in the midst of all the Christmas lights and joyful kids and central heat and air, let me please be sad about this thing, and let that be okay.


Published March 15, 2017 by April Fox

If you don’t believe I’m an optimist,

you’ve never seen me

at the tail end of winter


for the vagrants to drag their weary bones

across the lawn,

leaving trails of dust and grooves from worn-down heels

gaping mouths turned toward the clouds


for rain

while the birds drop hulls

from angry beaks

into the wasted grass

and scream in indignation

at the bitter cross-wind blowing

Behind the glass I warm my hands

close my eyes and disconnect

the brain that tells me

this could be the last

cold night

This could be the last season

of waiting

to be warm.


Published April 15, 2015 by April Fox

If the fear doesn’t get me

the winter will,

freeze me out of myself until I crack

and drown below the surface

Each turn of the page pulls me closer

A spiral drawn in shades

of black and grey 

So for now I’ll sit and watch

the rain,

watch the world come back

to green

one tiny life

at a time

Stand under the apple tree,

bees spinning frantic around my head

tripping hard from one branch to the next,

giving praise to each fragile blossom,

their creators

marking time with heartbeats

that will burn them out

before they hit the ground. 

When the sun comes back I will

burn her in to me,

scorch my skin with the slowing-down

of every second

I can hold. 


25th of January, 2013

Published January 25, 2013 by April Fox

It’s been a while. Beloved’s father (who signs his emails, now, love, Dad, which somehow makes me feel a little more okay in a very much not-okay world) mentioned recently that I hadn’t said much lately. Sorry about that.

Sometimes there just isn’t much to say. It’s January. Cold and dark and fuck, what are you supposed to do this time of year but sit around and wish the sun would hurry and come back already? Things aren’t bad, inside this little nest I’ve built. I managed to survive my first semester of school after being away for many, many years; the little people are all well and happy and exhibiting the usual symptoms of extreme wonderfulness; I got a new job that I love, it makes me happy, makes me feel like I’m doing some kind of good for once. Love rolls along, as it does, collecting bits of things to remember when it’s late and the house is a little too quiet. Still, though, it’s January, and I can’t escape the chill. Outside my door things happen that I can’t explain, can’t comprehend, can’t bear to think about for more than a few minutes before I feel overwhelmed and afraid. Mid-December brought us news reports of dead children, and in our minds we saw them hiding, saw them cry and it was too much to feel. Someone I’ve known and loved since I was a child had to witness just about the most horrific act imaginable, and is left now to gather the pieces of her life and try somehow to put them back together for herself and what’s left of her family. People I love are hurting, and I’m helpless in the face of all of it. Life, as good as it is in here, is absolutely agonizing sometimes, and my only defense is to isolate myself, to curl up in blankets and to wrap myself in hugs and soak up every giggle, every sweet word, every chance I get to feel something that doesn’t hurt, just for a minute, so I can save it for later, when I need it. I don’t know when I’ll find my voice again, maybe later tonight, maybe not until the world thaws out and I can throw open the doors and force up the ancient, paint-jammed windows and let summer in, but until then, here’s something to tide you over.

There is no title for whatever this is.

this is why
in the middle of all the
of winter
i am able to breathe

she says
you made me laugh too hard, mama
you gave me hiccups
and the voices of the little men
still trembly around the edges, not quite accustomed to the
that they’ve gained
rise sweet above the sounds
of breaking blocks and
zombie death
creeping through the walls

there is the smallest sigh of a touch
fingers brushing skin and as i turn away
i’m held there
safe inside
my life.

November Again.

Published November 2, 2012 by April Fox

this is when the darkness crawls in
through my eyes, making pupils grow
darker than normal with no sunlight anywhere
nothing reflecting, the night
settles in to my bones, through my pores
makes my blood thick and slow, turns my lungs
to cement
i can’t breathe
and the clouds gather, silently mocking
creating a haven for chill winds and bitter cold
i am gasping
for one
last look
at the sky
and i will mark off all the squares on the wall
turn the pages of cheap dime-store paper in hope
that there’s hope
in the passage of
was created
to make us all
suffer, a game that we play
mindless, hand-clapping, rote recitation
it’s time
to hang on
and the silence is broken, though effort
i hardly can spare, making faces that look almost normal
the words, almost just like the ones that i think
i should say and i’m left
at the end
worn out, shaken
it’s too much, it’s never
i can’t say
and the silence is
the silence is
all i can
and the small hands that reach for me
i can’t let go
they are the brushes that paint my existence
nothing is real
their perception
without their creation
of who i should be and that place
right beside me
just to the left of a
time-worn tattoo is the
light that shows everything
painted to life.


Published February 23, 2012 by April Fox

I don’t do well in winter, generally. The cold and the snow get me, for sure, but I think there’s something about the light, the dismally scant hours between dark and dark that pull me into this liquid place like forgetting something important and keeps me there for months. It’s tolerable most of the time, and I know it’s not forever and circumstances throw me joy impossible to ignore. This year has been a little better than most; still, when days like today come along and feed me summer after starving for the light, it’s something like miraculous, if I believed in things like that.

Today was a simple one, work in the morning, a walk in the park with beloved, mutt, and the two kids who weren’t feeling anti-nature, but it was a simplicity that I needed, and I was grateful.

After, there were ice cream sandwiches for dinner and chicken for dessert, and I napped in front of Coraline while my little daughter slept curled up against my side. All that’s left now is a quick shower-all I get anymore, thanks to the sketchy water heater-and a bit of cleaning up around the house, and the world will settle in around me and I can sleep.

This is where we were this afternoon.

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