Behold the visage of that most cruel and unforgiving lunar period, the woeful month of December, precursor of all things frigid and coldblooded, the threshold to the full outrage of winters trials and consequences.
I find the chill to be no great enemy, adversary, he is so easily rejected from my presence with warm clothing and residual heating, but thus speaks the comfortable higher echelon of society, a position justified purely financially, the result of good fortune rather than any particular deserving skillset of purpose. Life is pointed unfair, aiding the blessed few, opposed to the more abundant needy. Has eternally been so, since to very moment an acceptable hierarchy sprouted quite undeservedly from a society bent on finding social order, no matter comparative any obvious requirements or warranted rewards. Equitability has never been a significant or defining measure for success.
As I type this missive I perch upon a comfortable fur covered throne, wrapped in insulated apparel, and sipping at a hot beverage. Existence can be so terribly harsh.