winter things
“Leave the door open for the unknown, the door into the dark. That’s where the most important things come from, where you yourself came from, and where you will go” — Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost
Where I live, we are currently living through what I like to call the “ass-end” of winter. The stretch between January and March is the coldest, and hardest time to keep your mental well-being in check when living in a winter climate. The ass-end of winter is also the busiest time in many people’s work life. The post-holiday stretch before spring seems to always be packed with the laborious and heaviest part of the work year. I don’t know why we do this to ourselves.
We are living through this season of sleepy repetitiveness and harsh contrasts. I’ve been re-reading Rebecca Solnit’s A Field Guide for to Getting Lost. Solnit’s style is to share her own experiences and then tie in scholarly ideas and other people’s writings about a particular topic. In this case, the topic is about the unknown, about being lost and how it can be a positive and transformative experience. I know you’re probably thinking: Hanne, you had to pick a book on the unknown and being existentially lost for the dreariest part of the year? Heck yes. Welcome to my merry-go-round.
So these images, and this poem come out of how everything has been so extreme lately. So many things in my “feeds” point to divisiveness, conflict and backward momentum that it is dizzying. It feels like the world and its momentum are like the hard currents of a moving river. I seem to always be fighting the river.
This time of year is also a challenge for my camera. We recently recovered from an unbearably difficult cold spell and being trapped inside eventually gets my mind racing. One Saturday afternoon I took out the camera and started shooting the frost that appears in my kitchen window during cold snaps. This frost that forms has a fascinating texture of lace and crystals, that really pop out when you have a magnifying macro lens.
Finally, when the temperatures rebounded I took the opportunity to get out there. The dirty and messy streets of downtown Edmonton did not disappoint. I’ve kept some of the shots from that walk for another post, but there’s nothing more real about winter than sludge, windrows and good light.
winter things
I feel perpetually behind each morning.
Coat, scarf, a gulp of coffee,
and the frozen door snaps open,
snow crunching.
I know I am alive
because I can hear myself breathing.
Because I can hear as
a dog barks in the distance.
A part of me hurries
as if catching up is even possible.
Another part knows
it’ll be worse if I dwell on it.
Headlights glow in predawn dimness,
I can’t see out the dirty bus windows,
fire truck sirens flickering ablaze
I’m riding till the last stop anyways.
The bus is packed, floors wet,
packed with grit,
the fixtures rattling,
conversations roaring around me.
Lately, everything seems,
just about to fall apart.
The voices tighter, stretched.
A part of me worries
as if there is something I can do about it.
Another part knows,
it’ll be worse if I dwell on it.
It’s Thursday already,
and meeting requests,
emails and memos,
spin like flotsam on a churning sea.
On the surface, I’m put together.
I consider myself a professional
but really I’m wearing unmatched socks
there is so much dirty laundry,
so many bills unpaid.
In the gauzy darkness of the bedroom
I hold my breath,
suddenly terrified by some random thought
like: how are we ever going to make
these carbon emissions targets?
or;
what if the next time the fridge makes that noise,
it quits?
The manholes are steaming
as I wait at the bus stop downtown.
it is so cold, the air hurts to breathe.
A homeless lady and I lock eyes,
she takes me in, my wool coat,
my hand-made mittens.
I smile, trying to prove that I see her.
That the steps between her and I,
are not that many… no. No that is a lie.
Shame on me. My austerity is,
someone else’s prosperity.
Sitting in the backward seat on the bus,
the still pools of her eyes still clear in my head,
I watch the city grow distant.
We drive out past warehouses, dirty parking lots,
leaving a wake of sludge behind us.
The sky is radiant tangerine and candy pink,
the city street lights and headlights turning into
a choker of radiant diamonds.
These are winter things
the hideous, the glorious
the intimate and the estranged.
Harmoniously dissonant,
disturbingly permanent.
Settling under your skin,
they can warm your heart
then make you shiver
and if you dwell on it,
they’ll carry you away
like the current of the river.
Hanne Pearce, January 2020
I am currently republishing content from my photography blog. This piece is modified from a post originally published at https://www.hannepearcephotography.ca on January 30, 2020.
