The Far Quiet
In remembrance of joy.
The first light after a storm always carries shadows—dark hollows and unnamed pockets beside the pristine white of new snow. Tree limbs, burdened by the weight, look almost black until the sun arrives.
The world is frozen clean. Nothing moves, nor should it.
A quiet grace rests over the glacial landscape.
Inside dwellings, hearth coals are coaxed back to life, and woodstoves are fed their morning logs. White smoke angles from chimneys throughout the village, filling the air with that particular winter scent that summons memory. Soon, the sun will pierce the gray sky and dazzle the eye. Birds may appear. Surely some will. I hope.
None appeared during yesterday’s storm.
But there was a storm of storms in the far quiet of 2023, when my only task — my only joy — was to photograph the birds at play. They entertained without effort, flitting from limb to limb through a wall of white, thick flakes falling fast and leaving us with five feet of powder — the kind of snow where snow angels are made by the young, and by those who refuse to stop being young.
Here is their joy and peace. Still.
May it gladden the heart to remember that once, not so long ago, joy was abundant over the land — a day with nothing to do but smile at unabashed freedom, witness wonderment, and feel reverence for all life.
The Gallery
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
In quiet, in reverence,
Great post and pics! Thank you!! 😊
You are such a gifted writer! It’s a pleasure to read your words, every time!