A couple of weeks ago the sun came back from hibernation, and my online life went AWOL. I’ve been so busy doing fun things (journalling mostly, which I will show in another post) because I’ve finally had some energy.
But I still wanted to show you the pictures from this year’s first trip to the cabin which took place two weeks ago. A bit late, I know, but everything looks more or less the same now, except the snow is starting to melt really fast! So this may be my last proper winter photos for a while as we move into what we call spring-winter (gotta have a name for when it’s sunny but still cold, ya know).
Well, the cabin is still standing. No broken windows, no leaky roof.
We had to shovel our way inside, but it’s been so cold this year that the snow is really light and fluffy, none of that heavy, icy, slushy stuff.
Plip, plop. Spring approaches one drop at a time.
When the snow is this deep, you have to keep to the snow mobile tracks or you sink down to your knees in fluffy crystals. You also have to watch where you place your chair…
Just posin’ on my own…
We made a fire and grilled a couple of sausages. Life’s good!
Glittering frost on the thermometre. The price we have to pay for sunlight…
There’s something very sharp about the winter sun: it cuts through landscapes of black, blue, and white, separating forest from snowy meadow and sky.
There is no hesitation and no blurry edges. Everything is the sum of what remains when you remove what it’s not.
Geometrical patterns. Frozen moments in time – the flow of brownish water caught in the moment of falling, like stalactites out in the open.
The sky is endless.
The ice is thick.
It hangs on roofs like winter’s promise of spring – because the only way an icicle can form is if the sun is warm enough to melt the snow.
In my last post I talked about how the road will wait for you while you give yourself the rest you need. But there’s something else that doesn’t wait, and if you want to catch it, you have to agree to its terms…
Now, I’m the first person to rebel against the idea that “The sun is out, so you have to go out too”. But if you long for the light, here’s a thought: grab it while it lasts.
Your duties may have deadlines, but so does life. Maybe it’s time to take that break and give yourself a reward.
Is the sky blue today?
Is the world an open book, glittering brightly?
The time for twinkling snow flakes will be over before you know it. The time for moving freely through the woods will be over before you know it.
If you can, steal that moment today. Because on your deathbed, you won’t regret the time you went out to see the world.
So this year is a real “wolf winter” with lots of snow and cold. Way overdue if you ask me. The only thing that makes six months of darkness worth it is the glitter of snow and days like this, when an icy breath rises from the stream and hovers in the sunlight.
I love when the sunlight picks out each branch and twig in the forest. It happens on days when they’re covered in frost.
But a winter like this also brings specific challenges. Snow weighs a lot, so today we had to remove some of it from the balcony so it wouldn’t break!
We borrowed this electric thingumajig from a friend to deal with the worst of it, but I also used a big bucket meant for making wine. Use what you’ve got!
And afterwards, make sure you hang your clothes up to dry!
No matter how small the creature, it’s always at the centre of its own world.
Hubby and I sometimes talk about this in relation to spiders and flies: how they must view the world so differently from us – not only because they have more eyes, but because they hang upside down from tent ceilings and windows. Wonder how this garden looks from their perspective, we say. Do they even have a concept of it, or do they just see their immediate surroundings and ignore the rest? Is the ant’s world comprised of the blade of grass directly in front of it – an obstacle to overcome – or do they think about the ant hill and dream of reaching it faster than yesterday?
Every single organism is at the nave of its own universe. It’s the receptacle for sun and rain, for wind and weather. Everything that happens to it happens in relation to their unique self.
Even in a field of endless waving grain, every seed is an individual.
But what about fungi? Their self resides under ground, and the bodies we see poking up through the forest floor are only satellites revealing a larger presence beneath the surface.
And we humans – can we see beyond our immediate surroundings? Can we grasp the concept of the garden even though we can only see the blade of grass that blocks our way?
Are we individuals, or a seemingly unique expression of something else – something constant, something whole?