To my heart, winter is an extraordinary season. As I sit listening to Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” I imagine snow-covered forests, a radiant sunset over ice-covered rivers, glittering snow-capped mountain ranges under cobalt blue skies, icicles dangling precariously from cliffsides, sweeping fields of pure luminescence, wide frozen lakes, lacy, filigree patterns of ice in bare branches, roads and rooftops hidden under heavy piles of snow: the stark beauty of a single rose peeking through frost-tinged leaves and white crystals. In my mind’s eye, I see an enormous wintry quilt spreading over the earth.
Vivaldi’s opening passage begins with a violin melody that shivers like the bitter cold of winter itself. I can hear a howling wind blowing through the first movement and experience a sensation of my own teeth chattering as my shoulders hunch against the frigid air. And then there is a brief respite. I am sitting quietly beside a hearth warmed by a cozy, blazing fire. Then in the very next moment I am in an icy field stepping carefully so as not to slip and fall. I sense snowflakes swirling as the setting sun casts its light across the long, blue shadows and a frozen landscape.
What happens in the silence of winter? What seeds lie dormant beneath the snow? What seeds in myself are resting, insulated in the stillness waiting to bloom? Waiting to grow? Together with the beauty of Vivaldi’s music and the slant of winter light I embrace the deep silence both outside and within myself. Nature, music and contemplation. Without winter would I appreciate the splendor and glory of the spring yet to come?
