A Winter Walk
My husband and I braved -23 degree cold to go out and snap a few shots today. The snow in the streets and on the sidewalks is already gritty and grey, but the snow in the parks is still pristine in its beauty. That's where we went for our walk. It was quite a demonstration of bravery for my husband to brave the great outdoors today, actually. The gentleman, you see, is form Guyana, and to him the temperatures we've been having for the last couple of days are an abomination. It is instinctive for him to huddle indoors, wrapped about in multiple layers of flannel and wool pretty much from October until April. I am not sure what the lure was today, especially since he slid in behind the driver's wheel declaring "I'm going to die out there", but accompany me he did, and I was glad of his presence.
The cold was crafty at first, holding itself in abeyance just long enough to lull us into a false sense of security, just long enough to encourage us to strike out across hill and dale. When we were a good 10 minutes away from the car, the cold made its move. Suddenly, we both became aware of a wind, throwing itself against our chests, blowing itself across our cheeks. That was when we both reached for our scarves, to pull them up over our noses. That was when we both hugged our cameras to ourselves, in an effort to forestall the moment when they would succumb to the cold and refuse to function any longer. We each got to take perhaps ten or twelve shots before our cameras gave up their frozen little ghosts. We walked only a little farther before we turned around. There were no words needed, only the tacit agreement that the cold had won, and it was time to seek the indoors again. Walking back to the car, I listened to the silence around us being punctuated by the crunch of the snow beneath my boots. My husband's boots played their snowy notes just off the beat of mine, and I thought for a moment it all would have made a perfect lead-in to Red Shea coaxing a riff out of hiding from inside his guitar.
It was late afternoon as we headed back up the hill to our car. The shadows were stretching themselves out across the woods, and the sun was making scintillating prisms dance across the surface of the snow. I took a last look back, before we got into our car, and I understood. The cold is an entity, a spirit of the winter season. Miserly by nature, like the Scrooge of the sub-zero world, it is possessive of the beauty that sparkles its way through the woods on a day like today. That's why the first day of sun after a storm is often such a bitterly cold day. The cold wants to hoard for itself every glittering jewel created when the sun shines on a snowflake. It does not willingly share winter with the likes of such mortals as people be.
The cold was crafty at first, holding itself in abeyance just long enough to lull us into a false sense of security, just long enough to encourage us to strike out across hill and dale. When we were a good 10 minutes away from the car, the cold made its move. Suddenly, we both became aware of a wind, throwing itself against our chests, blowing itself across our cheeks. That was when we both reached for our scarves, to pull them up over our noses. That was when we both hugged our cameras to ourselves, in an effort to forestall the moment when they would succumb to the cold and refuse to function any longer. We each got to take perhaps ten or twelve shots before our cameras gave up their frozen little ghosts. We walked only a little farther before we turned around. There were no words needed, only the tacit agreement that the cold had won, and it was time to seek the indoors again. Walking back to the car, I listened to the silence around us being punctuated by the crunch of the snow beneath my boots. My husband's boots played their snowy notes just off the beat of mine, and I thought for a moment it all would have made a perfect lead-in to Red Shea coaxing a riff out of hiding from inside his guitar.
It was late afternoon as we headed back up the hill to our car. The shadows were stretching themselves out across the woods, and the sun was making scintillating prisms dance across the surface of the snow. I took a last look back, before we got into our car, and I understood. The cold is an entity, a spirit of the winter season. Miserly by nature, like the Scrooge of the sub-zero world, it is possessive of the beauty that sparkles its way through the woods on a day like today. That's why the first day of sun after a storm is often such a bitterly cold day. The cold wants to hoard for itself every glittering jewel created when the sun shines on a snowflake. It does not willingly share winter with the likes of such mortals as people be.
1 Comments:
a wind, throwing itself against our chests, blowing itself across our cheeksNo, I think it was more like pommel, trash, and clobber. That's what the wind did. The cold ... my face was glaciated! I could have died!
In fact, I think I did!
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