[Odd/End] The first day of snow
Originally penned 11/18/05.
It's the first day of real snow in many a week. As I sit here this early morning, this first glimpse of the monochrome of winter brings back memories, simultaneously leaving me alone and surrounded by a warm blanket of past experience.
The world changes when it is covered in snow. Everything that was once colorful is now a shade of white or gray, as if color never even existed, not just buried and forgotten. In this old photograph, like so many others, texture takes the place of color, depth is replaced by shade. Looking out the window, the flakes of snow dance, swirl, and hang, and I am confused by the quiet trees in the distance. I don't wonder why, when, or how they became leafless, for it seems eternal. Instead, I wonder whether a particularly odd shape was one tree or two. From my seat, the truth seems impossible to determine. With only the shape of the branches to guide me, I hazard a guess that it must be either two trees or one horribly tortured, grotesque specimen. I stared, wondering how it could be possible that all sense of depth had suddenly vanished.
This colorless universe where such enigmas envelop me is somehow pleasing. I feel the urge to plump myself with heavy layers and walk about the town, marveling at all the texture that I had not appreciated before. On such a walk I would stop to admire the vivid detail in a rough stone wall, in the reflections in the surface of the pond, and in the turbid water of the creek. On a brighter, more colorful day, the greys and browns of these things would repudiate my interest, but on a day like today, they seem downright beautiful.
It's the first day of real snow in many a week. As I sit here this early morning, this first glimpse of the monochrome of winter brings back memories, simultaneously leaving me alone and surrounded by a warm blanket of past experience.
The world changes when it is covered in snow. Everything that was once colorful is now a shade of white or gray, as if color never even existed, not just buried and forgotten. In this old photograph, like so many others, texture takes the place of color, depth is replaced by shade. Looking out the window, the flakes of snow dance, swirl, and hang, and I am confused by the quiet trees in the distance. I don't wonder why, when, or how they became leafless, for it seems eternal. Instead, I wonder whether a particularly odd shape was one tree or two. From my seat, the truth seems impossible to determine. With only the shape of the branches to guide me, I hazard a guess that it must be either two trees or one horribly tortured, grotesque specimen. I stared, wondering how it could be possible that all sense of depth had suddenly vanished.
This colorless universe where such enigmas envelop me is somehow pleasing. I feel the urge to plump myself with heavy layers and walk about the town, marveling at all the texture that I had not appreciated before. On such a walk I would stop to admire the vivid detail in a rough stone wall, in the reflections in the surface of the pond, and in the turbid water of the creek. On a brighter, more colorful day, the greys and browns of these things would repudiate my interest, but on a day like today, they seem downright beautiful.
posted by Me at 8:09 PM
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