{"id":314,"date":"2010-08-04T03:25:19","date_gmt":"2010-08-04T08:25:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.martysparadox.com\/index.php"},"modified":"2014-03-24T01:18:59","modified_gmt":"2014-03-24T08:18:59","slug":"winters-edge","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.martysparadox.com\/index.php\/writing\/writing-1994\/winters-edge","title":{"rendered":"Winter&#8217;s Edge"},"content":{"rendered":"<h5><em>By Martin Falatic<br \/>\nWritten 1994-11-21<br \/>\nRevised 1994-11-21<\/em><\/h5>\n<div class=\"hr\">\n<hr \/>\n<\/div>\n<pre>I watched the sun drift low across the Southern Sky,\r\n          Only rising slightly above the distant mountains.\r\nA languid arc she made, as she crept along,\r\n          Tracing the path of Winter's Edge.\r\n\r\nCrisp, dead leaves that had trapped the closing days of Autumn\r\n          Were reanimated by the cold winds.\r\nA vortex of brown, a dust-devil formed from the forest's debris,\r\n          Made its way across my path,\r\nAs the clouds raced to meet the sun before twilight became night.\r\n\r\nThe sky began to darken, the wind chilling me to the bone,\r\n          But still I walked, watching the vibrant sunset,\r\n          The gathering storm.\r\n\r\nAt first I did not see it,\r\n          So tiny were the crystals stinging my face.\r\nBut soon the snow was falling in earnest.\r\nI stopped, lost in wonder, and a certain melancholy,\r\n          I savored the moment, like a fine wine,\r\n          Drinking it in, feeling its warmth and its sting.\r\nI shared the view with no one -- the source of my sadness,\r\n          For I had yet to find one whose sees as I do.\r\nPerhaps, I mused, someone else is watching the snow fall,\r\n          Feeling the same hope, awe, and fear,\r\nOur souls embracing the same vision,\r\n          Unbeknownst to each other.\r\n\r\nAs darkness fell, I made my way back to the campsite,\r\n          Eager to write of the moment,\r\n          To share the experience with other kindred spirits.<\/pre>\n<div class=\"hr\">\n<hr \/>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>By Martin Falatic Written 1994-11-21 Revised 1994-11-21 I watched the sun drift low across the Southern Sky, Only rising slightly above the distant mountains. A languid arc she made, as she crept along, Tracing the path of Winter&#8217;s Edge. Crisp, dead leaves that had trapped the closing days of Autumn Were reanimated by the cold [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":276,"menu_order":12,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"class_list":["post-314","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.martysparadox.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/314","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.martysparadox.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.martysparadox.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.martysparadox.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.martysparadox.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=314"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.martysparadox.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/314\/revisions"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.martysparadox.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/276"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.martysparadox.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=314"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}