This morning my car looked like it had been attacked by someone wielding an ash-flavored slushee. All day the sky has spit chunks of icy rain, littering the ground with treacherous, near-invisible slick spots.
I know this is all part of the winter to spring transition, but I much prefer robin spotting and tree buds.
Showing posts with label trees. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trees. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Learning Cull
Louise Erdich opens her novel Tracks with these words: "We started dying before the snow, and like the snow we continued to fall."
I've been thinking about death and the act of learning. The gathering of knowledge doesn't strike me as an accumulative practice, where wisdom piles up into overflowing abundance we get to roll in at the end of our lives. Learning has a cost. Loss tied to its gifts.
I don't know that I would describe the loss as that of innocence, but each branch climbed on the tree of life puts the ground further below. The possible fall more dangerous.
When learning happens pieces of the old are sheared away. Knowledge gained leaves a mark, beautiful but painful. A tattoo on your essence, exquisitely drawn yet it still cuts, burns, and bleeds - part and parcel of creation. And learning is nothing if not creation, birth and death hand in hand.
I've been thinking about death and the act of learning. The gathering of knowledge doesn't strike me as an accumulative practice, where wisdom piles up into overflowing abundance we get to roll in at the end of our lives. Learning has a cost. Loss tied to its gifts.
I don't know that I would describe the loss as that of innocence, but each branch climbed on the tree of life puts the ground further below. The possible fall more dangerous.
When learning happens pieces of the old are sheared away. Knowledge gained leaves a mark, beautiful but painful. A tattoo on your essence, exquisitely drawn yet it still cuts, burns, and bleeds - part and parcel of creation. And learning is nothing if not creation, birth and death hand in hand.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Winter Sun
February 1.
We've made it. January is gone. I don't know whether I'd go so far as to call January the most challenging month of the year - but in my book it's close. This year in particular, when we only had one day above 32 degrees and far too many below zero, I welcome January's departure with a hearty hurrah.
Yesterday, when the long-awaited thaw finally arrived and 45 degrees felt like being baked on a tropical beach, the hard packed snow was cut through with rivers of slush and innumerable tiny cricks that flowed along the sidewalk.
But that was yesterday. When winter returned overnight and hung around to greet February, all that abundant melting froze. Now the sidewalks are sheets of ice that make dog walking an extreme sport.
The point of all this ranting (though I do believe ranting is a valid end in itself)? As I shuffled (the only safe way to move on the ice paths that line my neighborhood) along with my two dogs this morning, I realized how unfortunate it is that my eyes had to stay on the sidewalk.
The winter sky deserves more attention. A stark wash of blue. The sun pale and always a little hazy. Austere colors made all the more striking by the snaking dark branches of leafless trees that break up the endless expanse above. And at night. Ah night. The stars glitter more brightly against that cold black canvas. Light and oblivion.
Winter conditions draw our eyes down. Stomping boots, breath that materializes before us and then fades away, treacherous slipping feet as we try to make our way forward. Hesitant, irritable, impatient for the spring.
And winter's grace escapes us.
Dangerous though it may be, I'll be looking up more from now on. It's worth the risk.
We've made it. January is gone. I don't know whether I'd go so far as to call January the most challenging month of the year - but in my book it's close. This year in particular, when we only had one day above 32 degrees and far too many below zero, I welcome January's departure with a hearty hurrah.
Yesterday, when the long-awaited thaw finally arrived and 45 degrees felt like being baked on a tropical beach, the hard packed snow was cut through with rivers of slush and innumerable tiny cricks that flowed along the sidewalk.
But that was yesterday. When winter returned overnight and hung around to greet February, all that abundant melting froze. Now the sidewalks are sheets of ice that make dog walking an extreme sport.
The point of all this ranting (though I do believe ranting is a valid end in itself)? As I shuffled (the only safe way to move on the ice paths that line my neighborhood) along with my two dogs this morning, I realized how unfortunate it is that my eyes had to stay on the sidewalk.
The winter sky deserves more attention. A stark wash of blue. The sun pale and always a little hazy. Austere colors made all the more striking by the snaking dark branches of leafless trees that break up the endless expanse above. And at night. Ah night. The stars glitter more brightly against that cold black canvas. Light and oblivion.
Winter conditions draw our eyes down. Stomping boots, breath that materializes before us and then fades away, treacherous slipping feet as we try to make our way forward. Hesitant, irritable, impatient for the spring.
And winter's grace escapes us.
Dangerous though it may be, I'll be looking up more from now on. It's worth the risk.
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