Headache From Snow Blushes

Britain is under thick blankets of snow (well most of it) and from the oily slush in car parks along with half empty supermarket shelves it would seem the flurries have again brought worries. *Cue silence for a quick sigh*
People do it all the time when weather turns bad but this is the UK, a country not known for severe conditions; here its either raining or grey. (Or if the weather sprites are feeling genorous we see a glimpse of sun). People go stark raving mad. I should be used to it by now but the eager paws in freezers and screeching jamboree of drunk trolleys have sneaked under my tolerance radar and flooded me out from my senses.
I would not usually have bothered to put it to print but all the chaos does highlight something else. Something almost quite tragic. The more I watch news reports of traffic jams and closed services the more it all reminds me of the bigger picture; we rush around, honking, sweating, clambering, stumbling, almost fearing while the snow and frost surround us like cruel borders, and that is all there is.
Our fear is never based on anything sensible and the snow that so easily disables us could just as easily be overcome but we choose not to for some obscure reason I have not yet deciphered (although i'll shoot for lack of interest for now). We might as well take iced routes straight into our graves.
Of course many try to reason, and some will attempt to fight either through religion or science, art or philosophy but theres never a significent revelation. We are born and live like prisoners suffering the 'Peine Forte et Dure', slowly crushed under increasing weights, the only difference being fashions, trends and news/ current affairs are placed upon our chests instead of iron and stone.
Strange how we risk everything at home. We have everything we need, yet insist on venturing out in lethal conditions risking life and limb to quell our insecurities, and it is these jittery dispositions that will contribute to our downfall. Not content with having one coal to heat our homes we will go in search of more, get lost in the bitter darkness as we wander, only to perish in the savage wilderness without even the single coal we had in the first place to save us!
It is utter madness, and testament to how simple minded and flawed human beings can be. We rattle around trying to have extra of everything (not a crime on its own), and trying to figure out the rhyme and reason to things when all we should be doing is taking stock of the things we have and be grateful. Being content has seldom been the ruin of anyone but living like a firework always shortens the fuse.
Back on the bigger canvas we are all frozen to one page, suffocating under the same old sun and sharpening bones to use against foreign bandits. We dare not attempt to cross the snowy borders, preferring to flock around pubs and markets to drink and gossip ourselves into oblivion. Which is fine because I suspect we wouldn't handle any more on our fragile plates, and also why life is so very short. If we lived 200 or 400 years we would be real insane, the years hanging from our mouldy skin in pus filled globules as melodies of sceince and morals assailed our already bloated minds until we could walk no more. The sheer weight of Life making us hunch as the countless months rolled on.
The tools to cure disease and famine are within every single human being, we can all be vessels of healing and discovery. But some allow their spirits to be driven by softer forces, more comfortable energies and understandably so because the valleys where more adventurous souls go to find answers to prayers are not places of light. Seldom are cures found in meadows of golden rays, more they held in nightmares, places where one risks themselves for the safety of others.
Everyone begins the same but life, real Life shaves us off and sprinkles our dust into avenues of our making. (Or to be more precise into avenues of our desires making). The drunk will become drunk, the insane insane, the morbid will become philosophers, the perverted become preachers and the children will get old and die.
The snow encases us within its icy, velvet grip and we thrive like bottled zombies fussing over simple meats. And when it melts, when even the frost from the tips of clouds and pockets of the deep melt, we shall harness our madness and conquer Death and everything beyond.