Frost as a noun: “a deposit of small white ice crystals formed on the ground or other surfaces when the temperature falls below freezing”

Frost as a verb: “become covered with small ice crystals”

Frost as state of mind, state of things: It encapsulates what the mind goes through when the changes of seasons, accelerated as they are nowadays, take a more introspective turn. When the days tie their daily endings with ribbons made of early sunsets, when every sigh billows out of your mouth in hazy clouds, when the sun crooks itself in a peculiar way, when things aren’t garish, when sunlight is pale, when thoughts can flow without any climatic constraints, for a good imagination can only degenerate into absolute nonsense when the heat melts down your brain.

Frost serves a higher written purpose, it makes words scintillate, it allows the mind to glide freely across innumerable magical prompts, its embrace stretching out to keep you and all the things you love and hold dear separated from the rest of the rumbling, garish masses, its embrace takes the shape of a sphere, keeping you warm inside, keeping you inside a snow globe filled with dreams, shiny things, ideas to explore, introspection to take hold.

Two years ago, frost served as a worthy friend, a way to keep myself entertained and the gears of my mind grinding on the daily, it allowed me to write and read and bask in the jeweled glory of the great pieces I came across. Back then, frost was a way for me to ignore all that went on, outside of my mind palace, in the “here and now” of those days. I really wanted a way out, a definitive one, and for a short while, I had one. The problem was, I wrote my way out of the bad, the ugly, the real, and soon enough, I was unable to make sense of what was going on. Isolated, I started planning a way out of my then reality, I would think of myself as a technicolor mass to mold, I mentally turned into nothing, paid attention only to what was interesting, and crafted a new identity to take on. The problem was, said identity and the plans, ideas, and convictions it came with were completely out of touch, in an abhorrent way, it went against common sense, it was feeding off of delusions and it put a halt on my could-be progress. It stopped making sense, although it never made any to begin with, and suddenly I was faced with the ugly truth; For all my plans and grandiose ideas, all the ways I would allegedly start behaving in, I was sitting on the benches of my own life. Making no progress, doing nothing to change my circumstances, dreaming away the days until I had to mend the damage done by my autopilot slumber.

What I’m getting at is, frost can be morphed into something better, it doesn’t have to be an agent of mental chaos and disordered ways. After those few months of planning my escape came to a close, mainly because I got interested in chasing after a possible love, and such interest turning into reality, coloring my days with the “here and now”, I realized how horribly dumb my plan actually was.

Two years later, and my path has gotten a lot clearer, I have experienced love, its warm routines, and seen the beauty in the mundane, but I also have gotten a little too sidetracked. Let me explain. After realizing how stupid I was, monkey clapping cymbals in my brain, I got way too invested in accepting everything real, as it is, right now, no romance or glitter weaved between the fabrics of objective existence. I started looking down on writing and reading and finding pleasure in beautiful things. I started to think that in doing that, I would once again become pretentious and stupid, out of touch. But, with the revamp of frost for this upcoming chilly season, I am accepting everything, both the ins and outs of living, I am coming to terms with how things are, as well as realizing that at the end of the day, writing and imagining is a part of me, it always has been and it always will be. You can live a centered life while also basking in the colored rays that reflect off of art’s jewels. I can make time for the everyday living, and the little detours I take in my mind.

Frost, good old friend of mine, the concept that has crystallized around your linguistic roots is glossy and ever-changing, and for that, I shall always appreciate the hermetic state of mind you provide.