Finally and at last, the snow arrived in our village. No one venturing out or daring to disturb the purest white snow duvet that covered the green, where children of all ages usually play.
It’s not that cold. Yet something about the snow scene prompted me to light my fire and invite the spirit of winter into my home.
I stepped outside to fetch logs from my porch-way. Four o’clock in the afternoon, is about the time the sky turns to a mystical grey. Is grey mystical? Yes, I suppose it is when it has the soft pink and blue hues weaving through it.
I stood and breathed the cold silence that warmed my heart. I glanced across to check the garden pond that belongs to the fish and newts. The frosted ice on its surface hasn’t defrosted in almost a week now. A plant named Schizostylis had bowed down gracefully and its long, slender leaves were trapped in the ice. One lonely stem sporting a deep pink flower, was trapped too. My childLIKE imagination saw this flower as a captured princess of the flower world, solitary, lonely, waiting for the prince of spring to come and release her.
I wasn’t sad. I know that winter has to happen in order for nature to move on to the next stage.
As the flower and I, stood temporarily frozen in time, the silence was gently broken. It wasn’t the shooshing noise that the snow makes, as it gets carried around in sudden gusts of wind.
In the distance, I could hear birds wings shooshing as they chatted to each other, not many, just a few. Like a group of senior ladies on their way to the bring and buy sale, at the village hall.
My eyes gazed up above the trees, I waited to see what birds would be making their journey across the fields behind my home, this time. As the chatting got closer to me I knew that I knew it well. After all I have a river, a mere stones throw from where I live. If they are not adorning the banks or taking a dip; they move into the fields beside the river, when we are due snow. Except they know long before us that the snow is on its way.
Suddenly all the majesty of nature sprung to the fore, in an instant! Over the tree-tops, the fly past.
“OH! … WOW! Man ALIVE”! Was my suppressed yell. “That was amazing”!
Four HUGE swans, not twenty-five feet above my head. Purest white. Whiter than the driven snow, against my mystical sky. I felt like I was flying with them, as their chatting truly sounded like they were beside me, telling me to follow. But I wasn’t in their sky. I was the human being standing, awe-struck, in my garden. My minds’ photograph of them with their incredible wing span. Four perfect, broad, white crosses. Square-ended wings outstretched. Bodies like white ghost-missiles. Swooshing, swooshing, so very loudly. My heart raced with excitement; the child in me came alive.
They were gone in the blink of an eye, yet my mind can still see them so clearly.
I challenge any human being to give me a gift, as great as the ones that mother nature can.
Today’s Mesmerising Moment is by guest Evie Gordon-Longley who’s Whimsical Quill reminds us “you cannot light a candle if you’re shaking with anger.”
You can find out more about Mute Swans (Cygnus olor) on the RSPB website.
Photo credit: bubble_gum