Noon, January
The sun is so very low in the sky now, but having celebrated Winter Solstice about a month ago, deep down –in some vestigial pagan consciousness - we know that we have once again turned the corner, each day now bringing a little more light.
That’s what we keep telling ourselves.
But the change is infinitesimal to we on two legs…we who are sensorially dulled. I will note, however, that it is about this time of year my calendar annually records the first morning bird song and the first flocks of robins, modest but thinly hopeful indicators of the slender turning back into light.
So, there’s a lot of winter left, and what a lovely time it can be. In many ways winter’s not easy, but it is definitely not without its own charms.
The quiet is the best of it. The quiet is uniquely obvious on the winter days when we have no wind; the air is colder, thus denser…and the silence itself sounds different.
No people, no bustle, no nothing. Yet in this apparent void, my senses always become especially alive.
This was one of those days. It was very cold and I was out, just walking around on a favorite island.
When you are heavily bundled against the cold you move more slowly, and when your head is swaddled, and movement requires more awareness, the sound of your own breath becomes very intimate. It sinks into you, as would the presence of another person. Yet, blissfully, there was no one.
This is an island where the year-round population is about 340, yet that day I might as well have been marooned alone. It was perfect.
Because when it gets like this, and my senses come to life, and the day just plain feels right, and I am out with my camera….well, I’m a very happy boy on these days.
To purchase this work, click on the image
