Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!
She’s all bundled up in a long fawn coat and hand knitted scarf, the old lady on the street. Ready to brave the winter chill as she pulls the beaten old trolley behind her and walks in the direction of the shops. She’s moving slowly but once upon a time, she was a young girl running around and likely being mischievous. People don’t think of that; now they just see an elderly lady, if they even see her at all. She’s mostly invisible. There’s a sense of freedom to that but also a great loss.
The man behind her switches his gait to get past so he can maintain his speed. He wears jeans, a fleece, and a wool hat. He’s walking two very small dogs, one has a coat on. He looks uncomfortable about the situation. He’s probably walking them for his girlfriend.
I drive past them and wonder if they’re the sort of people I’d get along with and what’s going on in the little bubble that is their life. Sonder, they call it: the realisation that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.
I really notice these people as I pass. I’m on full autopilot, paying more attention to what’s going on around me than how I’m getting to my destination. That’s something I’ve always done but it seems accentuated at this time of year. The nuances. The rarely seen, the unspoken words, a sense of sweet, melancholic emotion attached to everything around me.
Have you noticed how still it is at this time of year? Despite everyone being all revved up with lists of things that simply must be completed before the year turns in, I am acutely aware of this calm in the eye of the storm. Is introspection the modern day version of hibernation?
I feel lost and found at the same time. A sense of belonging and yet not part of it at all. It’s the most bizarre feeling. I like it but it’s slightly uncomfortable.
I love the light at this time of year; it matches the tone perfectly. The sky is just how an artist would paint it and the light is low and forgiving on natures nakedness. I can see for miles. The yellow rape fields and lush green pastures are all stripped back to basics. Everything is ripped of its finery and yet beautiful in its simplicity.
I want to shed myself the same. I’m tired of the worlds problems, the naysayers and the unforgiving. I want to shake all the detritus from me like a wet dog might shake the mud from its fur.
There’s nostalgia at play too. I recognise this because I’m actually listening to the lyrics of songs playing in my car instead of my usual flicking through them at speed because I’m not in the mood for that track. Each one seems to resonate with my senses. This time of year will always bring about sentimentality because we have been taught to think that way. The magic and purity of the season are so perfect that it makes us realise we are not. That’s a good thing.
But that aside, there’s something raw and primal about this time of year that makes me conscious and heedful. Nature is definitely at play. My exterior and interior are receptive to one another and it urges me to pay special attention.
I’d like to hope that everyone else does that too, lest we forget how to be human. How’s that for a bit of whimsy?