weather wind white woman magic snow squall winter fields
it’s cold by the window. I should move from it. but it’s nice, the view, w/the white earth for the snow and the blue sky yes, a stand of evergreens watching the entire world out there also. white, green, blue. nature wins. even when it’s a bit plain. it has more than the current fashion and gossip. it’s not a surface -level type. the snow rests on the ever faithful wild sumac, the branches of trees reaching out to one another, some awaiting and then assisting and others asking for help. or, is it that the two main ones there are trying to rise fully and together for a painter, a landscape artist w/an easel, to paint their picture? could be. could be. we don’t know everything, you know? the power ceases. probably do to the wind storms wild and furious. I told the white lady. she follows the weather. ‘Hopefully it will go back on,’ she says. and just then it clicks on. I ask her if she has magic, if she performed magic. she says no, but like the sumac trees, I say one never knows,- even if she didn’t know. other levels of existence. maybe in one she is a white witch, who helps people and problems, a healer. white girl magic.
instead she says, ‘On the country roads, because there are long places with no buildings and just fields, the snow gets carried by the wind sometimes and so much, you can hardly see.’ I can see it. in the mind’s eye and also memory, for I’d seen it before several times. wild. maybe just somewhere in the distance a wooden barn on old concrete form. In one place there was a river down the way that followed the road for a bit, and not much else, not much else but that river. what would it have been like to live around those parts? in the summer, and on road trips, people would idealize the areas…and that’s a natural tendency when the birds are singing and a green field pastoral stretches out like a welcoming blanket made by God. but the winter. that would be another story. ice. isolation. and when hills are there somewhere, how to navigate them before the snow ploughs?- and there is less light,- oh many I would think take all our series of electric light for granted. the winter can be bleak. one would have to think of happy things, however silly.
yes happy colourful things. a can of sliced peaches. those things are good but must be loaded with sugar. the sign from a long time ago of two flowers, that spirit showed me, one saying, ‘Swap a smile, trade some cheer,’ and the other continuing, ‘let’s be happy, while we’re here.’ or good sweaters and cotton blankets. novels read that brought the reader into the good and right world of characters and climates. candles. scented candles. music. what else?- what artifacts and cloths, what phenomena and practices to fight off winter and it’s force? maybe the white woman that didn’t practice magic but inadvertently had magic about her, knew. field barn sky. cold long earth. snow squalls. power outages. the deep red of the twelve-month sumac. dreams of the sea, salted and warm, its meandering waves kissing the sands, rolling in with a forever way. that’s a long term relationship certainly, the sand and the sea, the sea and the sand. longer than ‘long,’ but actually ancient. even might as well call such a thing, ‘eternal.’
