A select group of friends and I have begun to admit the truth this winter — we love snow! (You know who you are…)
We are going to miss the snow when she finally gathers her mantle and swooshes off-stage.
The more the Weather Channel tries to turn Mother Nature into the villain (so we don’t realize that it’s we ourselves who are turning the climate against us), the more we privately exult in her beauty and power.
I wrote to one of my Secret Snow Pals this week, as our Saturday snow seemed to fizzle out around 9 a.m., instead of intensifying, “I suddenly realize that a minute without show is a minute without life.” His wordless comment was a priceless video of his son in his first hour upon skis, upon snow…
Another Snow Pal, all on her own today, began exulting about the forms of the trees, still revealed now. She actually is photographing and sketching intensively before the return of their leaves, which she calls “blowsy”! I love it.
NJWILDBEAUTY readers know that I had an article, in the fullness of autumn, in US 1 (Business) Newspaper, about my impatience for winter to take its bow. One of my main reasons is so that the sculptural qualities of each tree will be fully apparent.
O.K., I know snow can be dangerous. So can fire. They are elements in the most sacred sense — full of energy and bearing transformation.
As I have written elsewhere, including the Times of Trenton, on the importance of prolonged cold, the miracles it calls forth, if it weren’t for snow, I wouldn’t know about fox visits.
One of the best-received of intense poems given me in the year 2000 has to do with a fox, “that long-legged adolescent, who came to my song, in a time of beach plums and first frost… but now, it is snowing, and the ruddy one curls, half cat, half pup, about my calves, to lure me to the cave..” (Cool Women, Volume I)
I don’t see the foxes of Juniper, but they leave their signature on snow.
Ray Yeager, fine art photographer whose work stars and sells so frequently at D&R Greenway Land Trust art exhibitions, has a splendid photography blog. Which see, and which follow. Ray does see the foxes in snow and in the night, at Island Beach State Park.
Somehow, trees at Society Hill have been harmed by the use of erroneous chemicals. This is one of my favorites — its top all contorted by the poison. A suit is ongoing and useless. I want them to have the convoluted parts of the trees in my back yard trimmed, so that the majestic ones may pour all of their energy into nourishing the healthy parts. Snow really brings out the elegance and heartiness of the wounded trees.
Can you see why I don’t want this magical phenomenon to stop, let alone melt?!
Even the snow removal trucks take on beauty and majesty.
Who wouldn’t write, in a setting like this?
We’re not allowed to feed birds at Society Hill, the only drawback besides the chemically altered or killed trees. This shepherd’s crook was left by the previous tenant. The astounding lightness of this snow — caused by exceptionally low temperatures in air and on the ground — is practically tactile in this picture.
Snow is both artist and canvas.
My dear friend and fellow poet, Penelope Schott, gave me this deity from her garden on Canal Road, when she moved to Portland. The Goddess seems to be calling forth first sun.
I am so deprived of birds here that I had to take a picture of the tracks of one, in the soft snow on the back door, French door, welcome mat.
I am privileged to watch my neighbors’ five-year-old being pulled on a little red sled, gathering downed limbs, to turn into arms on his snowman.
A new member of the Snow Fan Club has been added, due to these words — exactly, what the other members and I have said, we have to be clandestine about this passion for snow:
I have to confess I love snow too, though it’s more complicated now than it used to be. I drove into & out of Princeton both Friday afternoon and Saturday morning, and it was magical.[ANYONE ELSE? Snow Fans Anonymous…. cfe]A Dear Friend and Fellow Poet sends this, after reading this blog, and says, Yes, why NOT add it to your blog:So we add Robert Frost’s inescapable wry wisdom:Fire and IceSome say the world will end in fire,some say in ice.From what I’ve tasted of desireI hold with those who favor fire.But if it had to perish twice,I think I know enough of hateto say that for destruction iceis also greatand would suffice.I think this poem says it all about humanity. Alas.