Back in 1965, Paul Simon wrote one of his masterpieces, I am a Rock. The opening lyrics are the following:
A winter’s day
In a deep and dark December;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
In The Wasteland, by T.S. Eliot, we see a similar theme:
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
It is now cold and snowy in Michigan, and it is easy to see snow as a forgetful shroud. Eliot may have meant “forgetful” in the same way Simon refers to being a rock and an island. Our ancestors used to confront those feelings with midwinter revelries, which were the origins for our own midwinter celebrations, both religious and secular. During the warmer months, I usually see my neighbors out and about, and we take time for brief conversations about the neighborhood, what we are doing, and world affairs. While with the exception of those who ski or otherwise participate in winter sports, that doesn’t happen much in winter. The snow and cold become a forgetful shroud, isolating us from the regular human contact that we enjoy in the summer months.
It is, of course, no longer December, and while the main premise of Simon’s song, “I touch no one and no one touches me,” may not be fully applicable, it tends to reflect the realities of cold and snowy winters. This has been the second winter in a row for cold, snowy weather in Michigan. Last year’s winter was called a “polar vortex,” which is metaphorically if not technically correct. The cold and snow enveloped everything. So far this winter, at least here in Michigan, we had a very cold and snowy November, which was followed by some respite in December, when we had warmer weather and less snow than usual. Most of January, however, we’ve once again been using the term, “polar vortex.” It has been cold and snowy again.
Also in “I Am a Rock,” Paul Simon says, “I have my books / And my poetry to protect me.” Although a cold, snowy winter may discourage certain activities, it is highly conducive to reading, contemplation, and meditation. Even in the deepest, darkest winter, we can find solace in our books and poetry. Another musician, Frank Zappa, said, “So many books, so little time.” One of winter’s gifts is additional time to read, contemplate, and meditate. This winter has afforded ample time for reading and quiet contemplation. Yes, driveways and sidewalks have needed to be shoveled, and errands still needed to be run, but the “silent shroud of snow” made sitting by the fire and reading an attractive way to spend winter days.
I am fortunate in living in a wooded neighborhood that affords me ample opportunity to watch deer, opossum, raccoon, and squirrels forage and play in my yard. Here’s a bit of what I see out my window:
When I look out my window, I am often reminded of what Walt Whitman had to say about animals:
I think I could turn and live with animals,
they are so placid and self-contain’d,
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.
So they show their relations to me and I accept them,
They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession.
Something to think about on a winter’s day, in deep and dark December and January.
The animals definitely bring me tokens of myself and a great appreciation for the breadth, depth, and scope of life, which is everywhere you go and everywhere you look, isn’t it….