Snow is a miracle that touches a deep silence in me, a silence I cannot speak of well – words seem wanting. And still I try, as many of us continue doing in various ways.
We may share the banter of our lives, our witty observations, our advice, our humour, our existential pain, or we may reach out with a warm hand of reconciliation. I do all these things, at times, but underlying my often competing voices, I tend to channel my experiences into the roaming eye of future becoming. If friends misread me, I like to console myself with this Ralph Waldo Emerson’s quote –
‘Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind.’
Each one of us has unique perceptions, and there is enormous inspiration and joy in our differences.
So much for the still sphere snow touches in me. The other miracle about snow is that it draws my attention to the surreal nature of reality, highly sensuous, yet stripped of bright colours and removed from habitual seeing – to the bones of shapes, to deeper gestures and essences. For me, a snow-covered scene is a metaphor of restraint that slows down or speeds up time to alien levels of dimension. It occasions one of those time-independent spheres, where I make pattern-connections and create new meaning.
A simple poem follows my thoughts on the miracle of snow. I tried to limit myself to 5/7/5 Haiku count, and hope it delights:
in silvery vaults
an angel ruffles her wings –
a leisurely shrug –
the sparkle begins –
slipping from her hand as a
powdery shower
of crystalline downs –
feathery light on the silence
hidden between breaths –
fine gauze swirls and drifts
across the tired features
of a dreaming land
to drape every
plane and angular slope in
white geometry
My appreciation for the geometry of life resonates with my love for black & white photography, see two posts back:
https://courseofmirrors.wordpress.com/2012/12/31/the-inner-silence-of-henri-cartier-bresson/
There are other pleasures to be had from snow, as my enthusiastic and capable son demonstrated in 1982 Somerset, and as the adorable puppy of a friend of mine discovered in Dorset yesterday.
Course of Mirrors 
A beautiful thoughtful post and yes indeed the magic of snow touches my soul in the way of bright moonlight and sparkles in the ocean
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And it tastes nice, and takes on all shades of light and lights up the night.
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I agree with you. I, too, love the stillness and silence of snow. Something about it makes me feel as though it’s safe to look inside myself.
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The hush and silence, maybe also because snowfall purifies the atmosphere. As a child, growing up near the Alps, winters were cold but sunny. I loved skying across virgin snow fields and explore crystals with a magnifying glass. In certain weather conditions I could distinguish them with bare eyes.
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Pure white loveliness. There is something so evocative about a familiar landscape suddenly alien and mysterious as it lays shrouded beneath a mantle of white. Formless, featureless, a place of dreams…a place to purposely lose yourself in and find yourself, amongst the snowy drifts and silence. Utterly mesmeric as usual, thank you, Ashen! 😀 xx
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Thanks, Sophie. And then there are majestic snow-covered mountains – one so electrically evoked by you, from the inside. I admit I’m doing a strange thing with your book, dipping in and out of the magic, I must finish a proper reading of the whole story.
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Thanks honey…but yes, really love the snow. Well done againfor another beautiful post! 😀
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It has not snowed much here so far this winter. Cold, but not much sticking snow. When it snows enough to cover most everything, and we go out into the snow, something in the air, something still and quiet, might have something to do with less traffic, for the snow usually keeps a lot of vehicles off the roads, but that quality of stillness with cold and clarity in the air, the brightness too at nightfall, especially if there’s a moon, that moment of clarity is unmatched in summer months when the cake has risen and exploded into a zillion airborne parts. Anyway, those first moments of snow are perfect for the haiku.
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for a little span
the iron birds stay grounded
noisy wheels don’t turn
Bliss, unless there’s a power-cut or I have to get some place 🙂
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Lovely poem, Ashen. I am reminded of my favorite short story, Conrad Aiken’s “Silent Snow, Secret Snow”, a poetic depiction of a child drifting into schizophrenia that nonetheless captures the haunting silence that snow brings.
I love snow despite the trouble it can bring. As a child, I’d spend hours outdoors etching fabulous cities out of the slopes of snow banks. It is the most malleable substance when the temperature and humidity are just right — the stuff of snowmen and angels.
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Thanks J F – I looked up the story. Haunting, the sense of snow falling about him, the ghost of snow, and the footsteps moving inward. I had taken to the House of Dust a few years ago. Plan to read more of C A.
Today, outside my window, it’s falling again, the stuff of snowmen and angels 🙂
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Very nice poem. There is something unique about snow.
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Thanks you Donna.
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I’m sorry to do this to you again sweetie, and nothing is required on your part, but I just had to include you nominate you for another award! In celebration of my blog reaching it’s 1st year anniversary, I have done something a little rash…I’ve created my own blog award as a way of saying thank you for the inspiration. It’s dedicated to the very best fantasy writers around, so naturally, I HAD to include you! It’s called The Flight of Fantasy Award, and you just had to be in the first inaugural round of nominees!!! Congratulations sweetie! 😀
http://sophieetallis.wordpress.com/2013/01/24/very-inspiring-again/
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Ha, ha, thank you for the honour. Now I must stop procrastinating. Will write up something.
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Good luck honey, I’m back to writing myself. 😀 xx
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