Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. |
First lines:
The name does not mean what it perhaps might seem: not winter’s dead dark depths, that point at which memory can no longer summon any recollection of warmth. Instead, it is the time when the first hard frost occurs with any consistency, the time when the world awakens to find a faint film of ice veiling every watery surface. In some parts of our lands, they call it the Freezing-Over Moon, perhaps a more descriptively true name for the month.
At this time last year, my hope was not a freeze, but a thaw: a freeing of my spirit, frozen too long in fear.
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