Susquehanna Winter
I set out one Sunday in January on a bitter cold day. Feeling a bit off when I left home, I figured some fresh air would do me good, but an hour into the hike, it was clear this might not have been my brightest idea. The fever hit hard—full body aches, that unmistakable wave of realization when you know you’ve caught a bad one. Still, I pushed on, determined to finally capture the majestic pine forest I had so often admired from across the river on past hikes. In return, I was given two unexpected gifts—the frozen Susquehanna laid out a stunning display of intricate patterns, and the way the light cut through the tall, slender pines, casting long, angular shadows, was mesmerizing. Despite the rough days ahead, what I captured made it all worth it, and the memory—formed in fever and frozen light—now holds a depth beyond most.
The Snow Man ~ Wallace Stevens
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.