winter
Winter is funny, the way it happens gradually—just like aging—it startles you one day. The texture of the air changes. Shadows appear where before there was light. And when the snows come, the branches sag closer and closer to the frozen ground. The trees go gray, the sky goes gray, even the dirt, the walkways, the streets—all gray. And when a cardinal or a blue jay appear, you feel such deep joy, as if color were just invented.
Comments
Ann, what a wonderful idea, to take the window photos. I love that. And equally, I love that they disappeared. I can’t wait to spend more time with your blog. It is strange how something expected can feel surprising, but then perhaps mystery is a requirement. Kitti is a treasure, isn’t she?
Jan 14 January 12
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Kitty alerted me to your blog. Happy to have found you. Last year I tried to take a picture every day from each window in the bay where I’ve placed my desk. My hope was to catch the seasons in the moment that they changed from one to another, to see the tree across the street bud and green and fill out and redden and go bare. But when I uploaded the photos my camera card was erased, as if this was some forbidden mystery that I had attempted to fix in my images — like photos of ghosts or fairies — and couldn’t hold onto. So we have it in words instead. It amazes me that all the time the world creeps toward the next season, yet when it comes, it still startles. There’s a single day when we know for sure — it’s winter now.
Ann de Forest 13 January 12