Today is a snow day on the island and through much of the Northwest. Over nine inches of snow mound over bushes, rocks and cars and continues as I write this. Water in this crystal pure form, though gentle, has changed every shape and colored my world white. The muffled quiet insulated by snow is interrupted only by a few high chirps from the kinglets and a long song sparrow serenade in the air. The sparrow perched on a small huckleberry bush looks especially puffed up and black against the snow.
All the details outside have been covered with this white. Whatever was previously scrutinized and put on a “to do list” is buried and forgotten for now. Whatever is underneath this blanket of white must wait until the snow melts. Everything around me has shifted by this turn of color, like the clouds dealt us a hand that was unbeatable. The weight of this accumulated snow has broken tree limbs and downed power lines in some areas. People cancelled work, travel and appointments. This is the time to lay your cards on the table and watch these little flakes of snow slowly take the jackpot.
This radical shift of perspective is what I love about nature. We are moved by the forces of winter, wind, sun, and snow. Even with all our technology and predications, we still are small subjects in the bigger story of the stars, tidal changes and solar flares. Times like these put us humans in our places.
Likewise, I think of the human body and how this physical form is connected to the white snow outside. Illness and injury like the snow, envelops a person’s body to hibernate and be quiet. All the details in life tend to blur and become small. The bigger outlines of friends, family, shelter, food and vitality remain. The connection to feel the vulnerability to the elements, as well as the frailties of one’s body. Without this vulnerability, one doesn’t respect all the elements that go into health and into survival of winter. While illness doesn’t have the same aspects of a “snow day,” I’ve noticed how people, especially elders, who have been dealt a tough hand of illness or injury, tend to respect the forces that give them vitality. The simple things in life– kind words and affection, sunshine, good food, shelter. Winter has a way of helping humans remember these simple things.
There is more to say about how we remember the sources of our vitality. But for now, the snow reminds me that I am warm and lucky to have shelter and food. I am lucky to hear the song sparrow, singing outside my window. I am lucky to have this body to experience the white, quiet stillness of this day. It’s a good day to watch this snow falling on the fir trees.
Snow blessings to you all…
Annie Thoe
Words on Feldenkrais Method®, Healing and Nature
©Annie Thoe, www.sensingvitality.com 2012
