No turning back
A week of 5 weathers. Would they bring us wisdom?
Even just one day’s events can bring very different characters to Nature’s table, but here in the UK over the past week, we had the pleasure of 5 different visitors, Wind, Wet, Dry, Frost and Mild.
They all laboured competitively, for and against its landscapes. One day would be the Soother offering the tenderness of clear skies and sunlight to make Winter bearable. On the next, the Opportunist, the thrusting cut of the wind and intense dry cold, would stick and twist the knife with cruelty, but bring surgical cleanse and space for new growth. There were occasional periods of stillness between the extremes, but quiet can reign an uncertainty as well as be the gift of seasonal peace.
Midwinter arrived a week ago, as wind mixed with spiked, cold rain. We were not prepared for sudden change, but here it was, the sharp reminder of the season we are in – the bleak mid-winter. Only unpredictability is certain. A short era of eternity is always poised to reposition the world with needle-like intensity. It is cruelty with kindness.
On Midwinter’s arrival, the sky darkened. The colourless, elegant crispness of cold morning air, the still at dawn’s wake up call, moves only lightly through the passing of first birds, but it would become morphed into the muscular might of a wild alter ego, bringing irreversible consequence to the landscape.
With an uncontrollable lashing, flora’s tree landscapes would be razored to ‘leavelessness’. It took just minutes for them to be left swaying in cold disbelief and numbing pain. But not yet finished, the Midwinter wind would even have the say over Dusk. Proceedings for daylight’s closure could not be concluded, until the Wind presided its presence with absolute power, pushing the clouds onwards to force all our attentions towards its magnitude and energy over what was left of the setting sunlight.
With the frenzy only found in a Van Gogh canvas, the wind painted a new landscape with a continued violent edge. For just a few borrowed moments, the spoils won from the devastation of flora’s undress and ruin, would outline a sorrowful scene. That of a desolate, ravaged beauty sat bereft on the backlit sky, but now on the short passage of borrowed time against the disappearing act of the sun.
To an undisputed loss and sadness, such energetic attention seeking worked. But no respect could be expected. This was an uncompromising reminder of Winter’s dictat and outright dominion, never a comfortable realisation. But this was also just one 24 hours. Even if memories linger for a lifetime, tomorrow would be another day.
© 2014 La Floralie