So Friday morning, busy with research, emails and even a quick nip out to the Bean Bar for coffee with a colleague, slowed toward lunchtime.
And I thought, "Something for Saturday..."
At that precise moment, I looked up from my computer screen, at the snow just cascading down, the sky filled with big fat falling flakes.
Wonderstruck, I stood up, went downstairs, and walked outside, to take a few pictures on the front porch.
"Have you looked outside?" I asked my wife. "It's quite beautiful."
"Oh my God!" she cried, looking up from her computer, noticing it for the first time.
Then I went to the back porch, shot more photos — none seemed to capture the magnificence of the sky, filled with slow. Maybe you needed the motion, or the shockingly cold air, despite which, I had the presence of mind to tip my head back and catch a few snowflakes on my tongue. I'd hate to let a winter pass and not do that.
The magic of nature is, it resets us. Snow squalled majestically from the sky for 100 million years before people showed up and deemed it majestic. It cares nothing for our social media or our would-be king. It will fall long after we are done making a hash of things, and go to our final resting places. A good thing to notice it, and appreciate it, while we can, before then.
And I thought, "Something for Saturday..."
At that precise moment, I looked up from my computer screen, at the snow just cascading down, the sky filled with big fat falling flakes.
Wonderstruck, I stood up, went downstairs, and walked outside, to take a few pictures on the front porch.
"Have you looked outside?" I asked my wife. "It's quite beautiful."
"Oh my God!" she cried, looking up from her computer, noticing it for the first time.
Then I went to the back porch, shot more photos — none seemed to capture the magnificence of the sky, filled with slow. Maybe you needed the motion, or the shockingly cold air, despite which, I had the presence of mind to tip my head back and catch a few snowflakes on my tongue. I'd hate to let a winter pass and not do that.
The magic of nature is, it resets us. Snow squalled majestically from the sky for 100 million years before people showed up and deemed it majestic. It cares nothing for our social media or our would-be king. It will fall long after we are done making a hash of things, and go to our final resting places. A good thing to notice it, and appreciate it, while we can, before then.
Snow squalled majestically
ReplyDeleteFrom the sky 100 million years
Before people showed up
And deemed it majestic
It will fall long
After we are done making a hash
Of things and go to
Our final resting places
Needing the motion
The shockingly cold air
Despite which I'd the presence of mind
To tip my head back
Catching snowflakes on my tongue
I'd hate to let a winter pass
And not do that.
sheer
DeleteLovely! The prose was indeed a poem.
DeleteMatthew, what a beautiful poetic expression of Neil’s prose
Deletenice--winter beauty in the city as it is in rural Forgottonia where I have no deadlines and gaze out the uncovered few windows on our 5 acres when it's really cold. Today a lovely snow but missed the true full moon; saw last night-it rose before sunset. I went out yesterday ( for the first time in a week) for our Saturday Resist rally across from train station in Macomb, wild rice soup and grilled cheese at Sullivan Taylor uptown and tea and lengthy conversation with a lovely new friend, home to homegrown marinara and pasta. Now listening to Folk Weekend on our local TSPR PBS station and curated Folk Weekend the theme "Firsts" Its available for a week or so-and would recommend at least to try it out. We are lucky to be here 35 years and now under the radar for now. We are lucky to have at least 2 hours of humanly produced music once a week and it's helpful in these terrible times.
DeleteThat was from me SLM in west central IL
DeleteWell said Matthew. Nice.
ReplyDeleteNope. I read the blog post, and was struck by the beauty of Neil's "snow squalled majestically." In the history of the English language - written or spoken - I dare say that those three words have never appeared in that exact order. It moved me, and I was inspired to shape the last paragraphs into a poem. But I didn't write a single word of it. Mr. S. did.
Delete(I like the reading which has snow deeming ITSELF majestic, and I don't know about the period at the end.) ...
Thank you Matthew!
DeleteBesides being pretty, I like the footprints that let you know woodland creatures traveled through your yard. We didn’t realize we had a busy roadway outside our kitchen window until they left a highway of tracks in the snow the night before.
ReplyDeleteTwo crows in snow:
ReplyDeleteTwo black crows tumble
through thick snow.
One grips a white-furred branch;
the other grounds, gripes,
lifts up its rimed beak and caws
“Don’t fret! It’s here!”
- Eve Fisher
❤️
DeleteMatthew and Neal, you both have a way with words. That was lovely.
ReplyDeleteA few frigid evenings ago, one of my brothers arrived at my mom's house, looked at me, and said, "Remember this when it's 89 degrees and humid." (I detest humid summer weather. He insists that he loves it.) I replied, "I prefer a happy medium." He said, "I'll take 89 degrees and humid and air conditioning over this!" And I said, "Oh, that's the difference! I don't mind 89 degrees and humid if I can be inside in the air conditioning. Just as I don't mind 10 degrees and snowy if I can be inside a heated house. It's the outside part that's bothersome."
ReplyDeleteI do love being home on a snowy day. Alas, I often have to venture out into the tundra.
Beautiful descriptions by both Neal and Matthew (and Mathew, your modesty in explaining your poem is itself lovely) As a field guy, I do admit that as I get older the sight of snow is far more appreciated when I am inside than driving over it or trudging through it.
ReplyDeleteMaybe I'll make a stop at the forest preserve for a few minutes today and try to capture some of what you're feeling. Because at this point in my life, and living alone, snow days, such as last weekend, and hopefully, not as bad this weekend, are just an endless bout of stress. Going out, shoveling, cleaning my car, trying to clear out my space so I can get out the next morning, in the dark, about 6am. Wondering if I would ever have the nerve to plunk a chair in that space (I don't), and if it would be respected if I did ( it wouldn't). So as of yesterday morning, I skipped all weather reports. It was going to snow, that's all I needed to know. Wasn't going to listen to those weather people salivating every 5 minutes as they report on the next snowmageddon
ReplyDeleteCan I extend Neil's Interesting claim that appreciation of beauty didn't exist until man of one sort or another showed up, to state that beauty itself did not exist until then?
ReplyDeleteI didn't quite say that. What I wrote was "people showed up and deemed it majestic." A trilobite might very well have felt some kind of invertebrate satisfaction at a sea that was calm over one that was turbid. Though I do doubt that a concept like "majestic" flashed across his ganglional clump.
DeleteHaving lived in Chicago for almost 77 years, once Christmas has passed and we come close to February, my appreciation for the winter wonderland tends to side with Ezra Pound:
ReplyDeleteWinter is icummen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damn you, sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm,
So 'gainst the winter's balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm.
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.
Thank you for the uplifting narrative. I still find this cold and grey to be confining and depressing, but now, a little bit less so.
ReplyDeleteIn Iceland we have a term, “Gluggaveður”, which translates to window weather. When the weather looks nice through the window but in reality is not nice at all
ReplyDeleteThe huge slowly falling flakes that drift down like feathers in calm, still air are a rarity, and a delight. A blinding snow squall or a blizzard...not so much.
DeleteLuckily, true blizzards are pretty rare in the lower Great Lakes...you need a sustained 35-mph wind, and either falling snow or blowing snow from a previous event. I lived through '67 and '79...those were enough for a lifetime.
Cleveland isn't as cold as Chicago, but receives twice as much snow, because of the "Lake Erie snow machine", which does not shut off until the lake freezes over. It did this year, in just the last few weeks. But it's still snowing almost every day, despite the deep-freeze. Go figure.
After living in both cities for all but a few years of my life. I have come to really, really, really hate snow. Pretty to look at through a window, but not to have to move around or travel in. But bitter cold is worse. That affects your house, your car, your furnace, your body, your pets. You can curse the snow and shovel it aside. but there's no escaping the cold. Unless you just stay in your warm house and HIDE. And that gets old pretty fast.
Well said, Grizz and Mike W.
DeleteA couple inches of snow is beautiful. A couple feet of snow is too much of a good thing. Most of us living in areas buried in lake effect snow, are longing for the beauty of Spring.
ReplyDeleteAmen.
DeleteI don't even want snow at Xmas.
ReplyDeleteAs a kid, I was happy as hell when there was NO snow for Christmas. Never liked snow, or playing in it...and getting cold, wet, and frozen.
DeleteThe people who begged for a White Christmas in Chicago really annoyed me. The more they whined about it, the happier I was when they didn't get their wish. Even today, all these years later, I still feel the same way.
The historical odds of seeing at least one inch of snow cover on Dec. 25, here in Cleveland, have only been four in ten, or 40%. In recent decades, the chances have dropped to about 30-35%, as Decembers have become milder.
And I'm totally cool with that.
I'm no Don Lemon fan but he should not have been arrested.
ReplyDelete