Snow Falls

Field Notes IV.VI: Snow in photos and a free verse poem

Welcome to Field Notes!

But where is the story? The narrative? Insight? Perhaps there is none. Perhaps they are obscured in drifts of snow. These pictures and the poem that attends them were born of a weekend of uncertainty, solitude, and probably too much coffee. They are impressions.

What follows is not meant to be liked. In fact, you probably won’t like it, and I’m ok with that. I’m offering free verse. And free visual perspectives, if that can be a thing. You then may rightly ask… if it lacks a structured narrative, does that make it irrational?

I say no. This is a rational collection of choices, decisions, and judgments. What to show or hide. Words… so many words to choose from, and why this one over that? Casting light with letters. Describing structure and texture with visual explication.

There is meaning in this. Some that I understand, and some that I do not. But my aim is to present photos and words that may drive your own thoughts, lead you to make your own judgments and interpretations. This is for you to take or leave and, if you do take it, to create your own meaning from what is presented.

Freedom. Like flurries of snow in the wind.

Snow Falls

Snow Falls.  Silent, white, inevitable.  Words fall,
piling into drifts
of letters on a page.  Snow on the page.
Landing so softly on leaves, dead already.
Already fallen.  Accumulating drafts of white.

The sound of falling.  Not silent.
Gritty hissing of trees.  Snow striking
words, settling on thoughts.  Piling.
Fur by the window watches with teeth
birds under drifts of white, dwelling on endings.
All silent, save for the falling.

Cold absence weighs down boughs.  White.
Not absent.  Obscuring, growing, reconciled
to texture.  To the form of course bark and branch.
Bearing rising drifts into oblivion.  Silence.
Words accumulate on the forest floor.

Letters crunch underfoot.  Pressed into
ideas.  Falling into words.  Landing
in piling drafts of white.
Not white.  On the page, already compiled
unto itself.  Wind driven.  Final.

Snow falls.  A coming together as all falls apart.
In silence, not silence, cold settles on the page.
A breath grasped warmly by form and texture,
by words, builds drifts of
silence, hissing grittily over
death, subsumed.

Alright, your turn! Did you find any meaning in these words or pictures? Like them or not your thing? No wrong answers. Let’s discuss it in the comments!

If you are enjoying Field Notes, you can support my work in several ways. Share, subscribe, upgrade, tip, or check out my store. Your support goes directly towards the food, supplies, or gear necessary for the photography, writing, and adventures that I share-