The Lights at the End of the Tunnel

Winters are getting harder and harder. I quite like the way cold feels on my skin, and I like the aesthetics of grey skies and wet ground and stripped back branches. But...

But.

The cold is getting more painful each year, and harder to endure. Even harder to deal with is the lack of motivation. Everything is too hard - cooking, photography, creativity, you name it, I don't have the energy or the endurance to do it. Hell, I can't even keep my mood up.

The problem with living in the moment is that the moment is your experience of the world. It's all very well to tell myself that come spring, this lethargy and disgust will pass, and I'll have the will and the motivation to photograph, and to make something. At the moment, I feel blank and empty, a talentless nothing trudging through life. I can't even see in photographs, when my vision is taken up by pain, and the twitching in my fingers and toes to make an image is supplanted by the burning of outraged nerves.

It's not good.

So I pushed myself out, with camera and tripod and crutches, and went to make some pictures. Oddly enough, even intending to work out my angst in some suitably angsty and nihilistic photos, they still came out strangely serene. Ominous, yes, but the serenity is definitely there. I wonder what that says about me?

One thing I know; it's given me some ideas. I think my fingers are twitching. I just hope the cold holds up long enough for me to make the most of it.