Winter

Winter. I love it more than any other season. I wish it could get colder than in Antarctica where I heard it has once reached -89 degrees Celsius. Think about that. June has begun and it’s just after 12 midnight, yet I’m only putting on a light t-shirt.  I wonder as to when winter will really begin.  But though I yearn for a biting cold, I think of the homeless out there in the street. I think of those who cringe under culverts, cuddled in thin sacks, dry and frozen hands shielding their faces from frigid, whipping winds. I pray for them. As I drink warm and thick vegetable soup, I think about them. I think about them as I slide into the warmth of my bed. They are there, out there, cast out and condemned by the capitalist system of survival. It’s a life sentence in the most callous prison one can ever enter.