Tag: Winter

FIRST SNOWFLAKE

On By Annika PerryIn Creative Writing, Snow, Writing105 Comments
"Giant fir trees heavily draped with snow, towering birches also snow laden. The only colour is that of the yellow and blue of the Swedish flag hanging from the corner of one of the summer houses. A caption on the photo read Nothing can dim the light which shines within by Maya Angelou."

No one saw my descent that day.

In the gloom of an April afternoon, I twirled and danced my way to the ground. Through the windows of the houses, I spied people engrossed in their books, not even pausing for a second to look up at the wonder of I!

The first snowflake of the day!

So many before had vanished in a second, a small damp mark the only sign of their existence. So, that is my fate! A dazzling display for myself alone and then oblivion. As I fell through the sky, a sudden chill snapped at my points, and the atoms within the air seemed to creak and crackle. My form, utterly unique to me alone, became bold, and in amazement, I neared terra firma. With a final wispy winding whirl, I landed safely upon the soft moss of the forest.

The first! The first snowflake laying the foundations for all those to follow.

The transformation was underway!

©Annika Perry, January 2023

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The scene shown in the photo above followed the rapid and unexpected snowfall in April 2022 while staying in the ‘summer houses’ deep in the forest a two-hour drive north of Gothenburg, Sweden.

Within a few hours, without moving an inch, it was as if I had travelled through the seasons; to a world bewitched. The giant fir trees became ethereal as they were decked in their white gowns, the trees dominating the landscape.

Wishing you all a blessed and happy New Year, filled with creativity and an opportunity to fulfill your dreams.

“Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.”
Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892), From Ring out, wild bells in In Memoriam

I FORGIVE YOU

On By Annika PerryIn Autumn, Flowers, Nature113 Comments
"Close-up of flower with many layers of pink and white petals, slightly darkened on the edges."

I forgive you, dear sublime tricksters glimpsed amongst the autumnal taupe. With your summer sheen you try to deceive me as for a second I let down my seasonal guard.

For over an hour I’ve luxuriated with the warm glow of sunshine upon my face, eyes squinted against the glaring rays as I’ve wandered around the Hall gardens.

"Large maple tree with glorious bright red leaves against green of fir trees and bluest of sky."

My eyes feasted upon the startling crimson maple in the distance, burnished as if alight; my vision lifted across to the golden hues of dancing grasses, above them russet oak leaves fluttering, twirling, released from the clasp of the branches, on their last flight of life.

All the time I’m fully aware of autumn. Yet here you are, at my feet, tucked neatly into the flower border, hiding beneath the bare roses. A sparkle of summer, your petals tinged with a love of light and life. Tugging at my memory of a bygone season.

"Large border of Pampas grasses swaying in the breeze, red leafed bushes to the front, blue sky."

I forgive you, con artist extraordinaire! With a sharp intake of breath I remain utterly still, coveting the treasure of summer, not wanting any sudden action to cause the precious petals to leave their anchor. Petals nigh free from blemishes of decay, petals bursting with gentle hues of pinks and the brilliance of white. On closer inspection though the ravages of autumn have started to touch them, the normal soft golden orb reduced to puckered sandy powdered puffballs.

I welcome your tenacity, your audacity. I salute your temerity. Thanking you for the gift of your deception, for returning summer to me on the cusp of winter.

"Ornamental pond with ducks swimming in it, bordered by pillar conifers, trees in autumn reds and gold, flowered water lilies in the middle."

CHAOS AND SHIMMERING BEAUTY

On By Annika PerryIn Nature, Snow, walking, Writing147 Comments

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What is it about snow? Just as it has the power to cause chaos, this quality brings along unexpected peace and harmony. Waking to the promised sub-zero temperatures, the snow view from the bedroom window was stunning.

Heavy clouds shimmered in their purple hues, ladened with more snow. Through them pierced the morning sun, a thin spotlight of warmth, a glimmering sign of a new day. Ethereal colours danced all around.

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Outside the birds flocked thankfully to the full feeder, and with quiet gratitude I watched their morning repast whilst contentedly eating my own. A breakfast usually rushed for work and school took on a life of its own and was one that just did not want to end. Ninety minutes later my soul was satiated from the busy flutterings, my stomach was full with berries, yogurt, granola. The outside beckoned!

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With perfect timing the sun appeared as I strode around the nature reserve. Total and absolute silence, apart from the satisfying crunch of snow with every step. The crushed implosion seeming to reverberate across the landscape. Otherwise not a sound. No birdsong. No a single car engine noise. Just a few solitary walkers, some children on their sledges and snow scooters.

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Gently winding its way round the wood, I follow the path from memory, gazing across to the small lakes. Their frozen surface is not one I’d trust to walk out on, however tempting!

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Ahead, a welcoming bench is covered in white and the usual seat for contemplation is reluctantly passed by … until another warmer day!

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The church stands out gloriously in its winter setting, a perfect Dickensian feel and it’s timeless nature makes me stop in awe. A church on this site since Norman times, the additions are clearly visible. Recalling the stained glass windows from Ely I’ve always wondered what happened to the ones here. Later I learn they broke and were never replaced with such wonders, alas!

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As I turned to home, the walk suddenly became a trek across the arctic tundra, a howling bitter wind fought a battle across the landscape. With my head bowed and fingers riddled with frost bite (or so I imagine) I slip-slide my way through the soft depths of snow, gazing at the ripples of white powder, perfect peaks across the fields. I trudge on wearily, relentlessly, the thought of a welcoming hot chocolate whinching me home.

Season of Mists *

On By Annika PerryIn Holiday, Travel, Travels, Writing78 Comments

snow covered stuga feb. 10

As Autumn steadily sweeps across us, the temperatures dipping further down with each day, nature’s exhibition of its colourful canvases growing ever more spectacular, we slowly ready ourselves for the winter. 

Winter coats, gloves, hats and scarves are made ready.  The radiators clatter to the sensation of heat coursing through the pipes for the first time in months. 

So off to Sweden I head for a few days to help prepare the summer houses for oncoming winter, when ice can reach a metre or two below the ground, when snow can pile metres high up against the walls. Minus twenty (centigrade) is not unusual. This is the final sorting before the dark days descend, radiators will be left on and this year to ensure there is no repetition of last Easter’s indoor flood following burst pipes, a heated lead has been placed in the water pipes between the houses to stop them freezing. Fingers crossed. 

I can’t wait to see the bountiful beauty the trees will offer – although even as we left in August the birch leaves were already tinged ochre and cracking at the tips. The ocean adorns itself with a wintry gown, the light flickering across the silver shimmery sea, the crispness of the air snapping at my lungs. 

This is my last escapade abroad this year; I will catch up with you all on my return until then I wish you a lovely final few days in October, a fun Halloween if celebrating and for those participating in NaNoWriMo best of luck! May stamina, perseverance and snacks carry you through until the end of 50,000 words. 

‘There are moments in our lives, there are moments in a day, when we seem to see beyond the usual. Such are the moments of our greatest happiness. Such are the moments of our greatest wisdom. If one could but recall this vision by some sort of sign. It was in this hope that the arts were invented. Sign-posts on the way to what may be. Sign-posts toward greater knowledge.’

Robert Henri (1865-1929), American artist & teacher

* From ‘Ode to Autumn’ by John Keats