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kenton winter fields

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digital
kenton, ohio january 2009
i looked out the window of my mother-in-law’s guest bedroom and it was snowing. the flakes of snow were blurring the air making the row of pines across the fields indistinct. the atmosphere had substance, and the sky was gray and heavy. everything in the barren cornfields and fencerows was stripped of color and reduced to contrast and form. i hurriedly made my way outdoors to explore the scene before me, and capture its simplicity and innocence. no signs of life, the weeds brown and stiff, the cornstubble in silent rows. the snow was just over my boots in the fields, but over my knees in the fencerow drifts. no sounds but the wind through the branches and the precious chirp of hidden bird. waves of snow and gardens of weeds.

Snow-flakes

Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed to wood and field.

-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow