The Virginian Winter is harsh.

[Erothyme]

The Virginian Winter is harsh. This is not because the weather is particularly uniquely remarkable. The weather is, in fact, remarkable only in that it is just cold enough to be distressing while not radical enough to regularly make an active aesthetic appeal in the form of the pearl glow of moon on snow. This particular harshness is more of a spiritual torpor.

The corruption of the air we breathe is no longer masked by the elegant perfumes of our botanical neighbors. The persistent hum of modern human negativity is no longer lost awash in an ocean of animal ambiance. The trespasses of our peers are no longer so well-balanced with interactions with nature, which makes us feel claustrophobic to be human. The apparent silence of nature leaves us more opportunities to brood over the terrifying truth that we are obligated to be concerned about the malignant interests of the least noble among us.

And the malignant interests of our peers do tend to become dominant forces, particularly in those less persistently aware. The radiant light of the eyes becomes, on some faces, as desaturated as the average Virginian December afternoon. The warmth of the human smile seems to dissipate more quickly in the chilly breeze.

All around us, dry eyes gaze at gray concrete on their linear journey between sterile rectangles so that white squares may make executive decisions about the fate of the surrounding world which they are blind to.

Pay attention to your fire,
Keep it burning strong.
Don't allow it to expire;
Night is cold and long.