Sometimes I feel like something has been switched off in me and it comes back only sometimes, for blinks, like a pilot light, like a short eye movement between two sessions of deep sleep.
And with that switch, it seems, goes my energy, pace, inquisitiveness and the words...
I figure it could be the snow. The way it falls over everything non-selectively and makes noise into quiet with its frequency of white. A keyboard made of soft feather downs... The sound you hear in the cold side of the pillow...
Or it could be the wintry skies. Another blanket-like presence; and the jackdaws are gone from it too. I used to notice how they keep swarming religiously every morning, sometime around mid-November. They kept flying in big gloopy shapes above the market square or over the paper factory, for seemingly no reason at all.
I just noted first, then began to wonder about their strange display. I searched for a while for a good sort of an answer, but found not much satisfaction in swarm theories and the boids simulation.... My interest gave up and moved somewhere else, so did the jackdaws, and they were replaced by flurries of snow.
I feel like sleeping a lot. My mind and body wants sleep so I give it sleep. My diet changed too. I want no meat, no egg, no dairy, no complicated flavours...just rice. Or just green leaves. Or a simple soup. So I comply.
I've been feeling stuck for words. The quietness of sleep feels attractive, or just to be quietly wondering about this or that, about missing words, about movements in nature. About hibernating.
Or about this spider that I'd found in the broom cupboard the other week. I knew it was dead, but still it made me look twice. Not because it was a big one with long spindly legs; I looked because I noticed its curly feet. It struck me how it looked like a scribble, like a doodle of itself.
It also could be this small town. The tiny stretch of illuminated shopping street is like a postcard, it makes me smile inside and feel the warmth of the season's idyll, but rather like a Christmas lullaby. It's nothing like Oxford Street with its festive rush, stresses and overstimulating excesses.
It's sleepy and quiet, just like me.