“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.” ― Lewis Carroll
“The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches.” ― E.E. Cummings
“With melted snow I boil fragrant tea.” ― Mencius
“It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.” ― Dylan Thomas
I took this photo a few weeks ago when we had our first dusting of snow at Nectar Farm. We have more snow on the ground now, enough to plow and shovel. Today, as I was clearing the walkway, I felt a great longing to know the snow - does the snow feel tender towards us? Does it not give a damn about us? Is it for our consumption? It is an artists medium? Is is all of that and more? Or something else?
With my large aluminum shovel in hand, I voiced my desire to know the snow... I want to feel the being of snow, which I have felt with liquid water, or trees, or flowers, clouds, even the sky ... but I didn't feel the essence, the "living" element of snow in that way... not today, not yet.
But there is more to shovel, and I will try again tomorrow.