Perhaps because it snowed yesterday and people responded with a blizzard of pictures on social media – as evidence that the meteorological phenomenon of snow still exists, I recalled the image above. It was taken few years ago after a long night during which a gazillion of flakes blanketed everything in sight. It happened so quietly, silently really, like a secret celestial mission to cover the withered bareness in whiteness and dress up the evergreens. It was a weekend so we slept in and after a laid-back breakfast ventured outside with the sincere intention of shoveling snow, at least a pathway to the car. Maybe the pathway was my responsibility while Peter worked on digging out the car. All I know is that at some point I went back inside the house to get my camera. I took 23 pictures and this was the last one.
Here’s a poem by Mary Oliver from her collection titled “Evidence”:
Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.
How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.
How two hands touch and the bonds
will never be broken.
How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.
Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.
Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.