Eskimo Snowshoeing

The ocean is one of my favorite creatures.  Although we classify only animals and humans as those who have physical hearts, I would say that the ocean has one too, somewhere, and is a living, thriving, terrifying creature who also has a calming presence.  The size of it alone reminds me of the vastness and depths of human experience and that there is always so much more to know. 

Snowshoeing along a rocky shoreline combines two beautiful colors on a sunny day: a blinding white and the boldest blue.  I wonder how many places you can do this type of walking in the world where two sides of the same compound of nature meet at the beach: water and snow.  

In Spanish, the word blue is azul and somehow that "z" does the New England winter blue more justice.  It adds an extra zealous quality.  It sounds stronger and bolder.  I can also see why tribes in Alaska distinguish kinds of snow with their words: 

Aput: Snow on the ground  

Qana: Falling snow  

Piqsorpoq: Drifting snow  

Qimuqsuq: Snow drift  

(+ up to 40 more)

Or sea ice:

Utuqaq: Ice that lasts year after year

Siguliaksraq: "Patchwork layer of crystals that form as the sea begins to freeze"

Auniq: "Ice that is filled with holes, like Swiss Cheese"

The words we use reflect the way we see the world. 

This winter, I noticed that the snow was very light and fluffy when it first fell.  I would term this "best-shoveling-snow" as an everyday resident but "powder" as a skier or "terrible-snowman-building-snow" as a child.  I've also noticed the flakes this year.  At times, they look more as how the flakes looked in Oregon: Dippin Dots, the ice cream that is made up of a bunch of tiny compacted kernals.  Or perhaps they are "tiny eggs from the sky" or "soft white beads". 

By the end of the day it compacts to a denser snow.  After days and weeks the top layer becomes a crunchy icy skin, like cake with frozen butter icing that you break into with your fork.  "Wedding cake snow", "nails on a chalkboard snow", "caramel topping" or "hardened icing".  

Crunch. 

This snow will be gone before we know it and my snowshoes will return to the trunk of my car.  Back to the ocean all of this snow will go - melting away and becoming water again.  I can only imagine the puddles that Spring will bring.  

The snow will reinvent itself into something new, just as we do everyday.  

To What is Lovely

It's not everyday that you get to hang out with a great lady, but today was one of those days.  Here's a poem that captures afternoons at this wooden palace on a beaver pond, and how the present becomes a present:

Snow Geese

Mary Oliver

Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last!

       What a task

           to ask

of anything, or anyone,

yet it is ours,

    and not by the century or the year, but by the hours.

One fall day I heard

  above me, and above the sting of the wind, a sound

I did not know, and my look shot upward; it was

a flock of snow geese, winging it

    faster than the ones we usually see,

and, being the color of snow, catching the sun

so they were, in part at least, golden.  I

held my breath 

as we do

sometimes

to stop time

when something wonderful

has touched us

as with a match

which is lit, and bright,

but does not hurt

in the common way, 

but delightfully,

as if delight

were the most serious thing

you ever felt.

The geese 

flew on.

I have never

seen them again.

Maybe I will, someday, somewhere.

Maybe I won't.

It doesn't matter.

What matters

is that, when I saw them,

I saw them

as through the veil, secretly, joyfully, clearly.

"As if delight were the most serious thing you ever felt"... and perhaps it is.  After all, "light" is caught up in the word itself - and we all know we do a little bit better with a little more light, from both the sky and people.  

Here's to all the light and lights in our lives - "what matters is that, when I saw them, I saw them". 

I bought the brightest ones.

Neon flowers

White roses

Whooosh

Up to the window

Higher than a compost pile

Walk on

The wind whipped up the snow at just the right time.

Tracks of something...

He's got the right idea

Pretty

Hello.