Insomniac Reasons on the Seasons

Zoe Griffin '23

I’ve decided I like winter. It's always much moodier than spring, so when I don’t like the colors and when my blood ices over people think she's just cold, in a good way. It's always calmer than the summer; I never do enough, go to enough places, or have enough friends. And the fall is hell. It's not the season specifically, I have nothing against the small screams I hear as the leaves I have never quite noticed fall to the ground brushing my arms and legs in their free fall. Instead, the eerie feelings that come out of their hunched shady hole to sit on my chest and my back, and my heart as soon as the light begins to raise its head later in the day; they whisper sweet nothings in my ear and hold the bar higher than I can reach. They let me jump for the bar, telling me I’ve almost got it as I stand on the precarious precipice looking out towards my future on the other side of this year-long ravine.

But I like the winter, the snow is too cold for the eerie feelings that demand too much, everything, so they must retreat back to their cave. I wave merrily as their hunched backs explode with darkened spots and gnarled flesh grumble and tumble down into their damp home. I am mostly at peace. And at any time of year, mostly as much as I’m hoping for.