A New Fallen Snow
The morning breaks crisp, pure and bright. A new dawn, a restart, a rebirth. All is muffled, the bright gleam is both compelling and challenging to the sight, yet seems to dull the other senses. One it sharpens, the others left confused and woolly.
Everything needs to be clear, in a row. However keenly occupied the eyes are, what needs to be seen is hidden from view. Trying to unpick the truth, without sight or sound, with no taste, merely a cold sensation and only an unintelligible white smell; it is so hard, so very very hard.
Think now. Think. Thoughts. Take control of those thoughts. This landscape must be understood, laid clear, in a row. It is an intellectual process, perhaps, and can be understood, without recourse to the senses, surely?
But this clogging snow is no more than the harsh, brittle, frozen incompetence of thought. Untamed, inaccurate, inexhaustible and failing notions filling the brain, creating those huge, dark, storm clouds, that lead inexorably to the fall of suffocating snow, deep, crisp, and even now, holding you back.
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