Spring is nigh. And I don’t know what the world looks like where you live, but where I spend my days winter is a bleak, snowy realm that hides the world under a chill blanket whence we await spring and the warmth and the inevitable thaw that comes, too.
With thaw comes melt, plentiful puddles, and the revelation of all the things that had been covered in snow for months and months reappearing again. Often they are a caked and cruddy, sometimes little more than trash, but occasionally reminding us that there is work to be done in bringing summer to its full glory.
People far smarter than I have been seeing metaphors in the seasons for long before I arrived and will do so long after I leave, but I will reiterate the point: spring, literal or figurative, is a time of renewal. The world, the mind, the heart, the soul— they all melt eventually and buried under the frozen realm is often surprises of once forgotten things.
The Blankwraith may be a demon that freezes our creative selves, but even his power is subject to the thaw of inspiration. Even he tires, and ideas emerge from under the snow waiting to be brushed off and dealt with.
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