The Season That Never Was
It is 3:14 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am sitting here wondering why we are so obsessed with things staying exactly as they are. We want the cold to be cold and the warmth to be warm, as if the world owes us a predictable rhythm. But the truth is, the most honest moments are the ones where everything is confused. The moments where the old skin hasn’t quite shed, but the new life is already pushing through the frost. It is uncomfortable, isn’t it? To be caught between what you were and what you are becoming. We spend our days trying to label ourselves, trying to fit into a single season, but the heart is rarely that tidy. It is a messy, overlapping landscape of memories that should have frozen over and hopes that are blooming far too early. Why do we fear the overlap? Why does it feel like a betrayal to be both broken and beginning at the same time?
Moslem Azimi has captured this strange, beautiful friction in the image titled Winter in Spring. It reminds me that we are often at our most striking when we are caught in the middle of a transition. Does the cold ever really leave you, or do you just learn to bloom around it?
