A Sigh

It's been the coldest yet for this winter;  it hadn't stopped snowing all day. At 4.30 in the afternoon, I take a spin in my chair and glance out the window, and I am mesmerized.

It's stopped snowing. The sky is that beautifully deep hue of blue, that's only found in the twilight sky. The sun's not completely set, but the vivid blue spans the entire sky far and wide, without a single cloud to meet the eye. Words can do no justice to this vision. The purity of the blue beckons, catching the eye of the unaware, magnetically drawing a cursory glance out into a prolonged stare.

And right there, shining so emphatically proud and gracefully, the moon. Not quite half, not quite full. A transition that promises more to be revealed, asking without hesitation for that patience that must be maintained to attain that future.

That future of what? Of attainment, of satisfaction, of contentment, of fulfillment. A future where all the waiting now is sated and completed.

In one glance at this vision, I am filled with a feeling, nostalgic, bittersweet, of a realization that I have spent enough moments to smell the roses, in contemplating and dreaming, to simply revel in being.

Perhaps, simply, it is a waiting. A waiting that continues, a waiting that may perhaps have no end, for in being do we not exist in constant longing? A longing that exists beyond the mere wants and fulfillment of worldly desires, that exists simply as the quintessence of the emotion itself, a river of desire that streams continuously into which we splash or dip a hand into now and again.

And I shall wait for the moon to blossom, for the snows to melt, the cold to dissipate, for a fulfillment of sort.