Prince was wrong-āit ALWAYS snows in April (in Vermont). Iād expected a storm-āwith icy air whistling through the bare branches, one where the songbirds need to nestle tightly in the hedgerows to protect themselves. I braced for sloppy wet whips of rain and snow to fly against my windshield as I drove home from work yesterday. But calm and the eerie quiet of waiting for punishment of unknown severity was what most of the night consisted of.Ā
And of course, I got to start in on another book as I waited for the snow to fall. Iāve been in a reading frenzy this week, which started with finally being able to borrow the Bridgerton books from the Libby app. Itās the primary way of using my library privileges. My fiancĆ© likes to rib me for my Bridgerton obsession:Ā
In truth, romance is the palp my heart and brain needs in order to navigate the unpredictable waves of reality. It's the salve for my nerves, when stress manifests as acid reflux and there is no room in my brain left for another tiny, crucial detail.Ā
These frivolous stories massage the knots of the most complicated spreadsheet formulas into elegant equations, they manage to schedule two straight weeks of last minute catering orders into a reasonable to-do list; they are the reason I recommit to the world. I need them.
This morning when I awoke and peered outside, everything in view was delightfully white-āsmothered in the brightest, fluffiest brushstrokes of snow. There was so much snow that youād expect evergreen branches to sag under the weight of it. But my cedar hedge was unbowed. The snow was still falling, with no urgency or design. Itās white noise made visible. Dan tells me we will accumulate an inch per hour.Ā
I technically do not have to drive in to work, and typically would avoid getting stuck in snow-stressed traffic. But itās so wonderfully perfect, this snow. Itās the Vermont scene that tourists eat up. Itās a postcard, a Hallmark movie setting, itās romantic in its untouched naturalness. Often when we think of wildness, we think of predators, venom, and survival. But this is also wild: the silence of snow building itself into a landscape. Nature takes no sides. It simply is.Ā
This was one of the main themes in EVIL DOES NOT EXIST, one of the showcase features we ran as part of the Green Mountain Film Festival last month. Naturalistically, everything is neutral. And as natural creatures, humans are also inherently not good nor evil. Neither holy nor sinful. It is the process of livingāour accumulated experiences that bends our lens to the world. With every bend, we see things differently. Our experiences become this ever-expanding compound eye, and sometimes we have to shut off certain receptors in order to not be subsumed by information overload.Ā
Today, the inputs I wanted were the visual reminders of mutabilities outside of human control. Sure, we can push, plow, melt, and drive over the snow all we want, but with or without us, the snow persists. No, āpersistā is a determination of will, a condition of living. The snow remains as wild as ever. For this reason, I wanted to be in it.Ā
I havenāt written because Iāve been so consumed with producing the film festival that I had nothing left for anyone else. The past three months have been a combination triathlon, relay race, and labyrinthine rescue mission. Iāll get into it some day, but today Iām still too close to it, and I just want to watch the snow dance with gravity while I sip hot chocolate and finish the BBC / Colin Firth version of Pride and Prejudice (my first watch! š¤¦š»āāļø).Ā
Anyways, this post is to say hi. šš½ šš½ šš½ Iām still here. Once I get through Montpelier Art Walk on Friday, the All You Can Eat Pie Brunch on Saturday, the eclipse (and overnight company) on Monday, my next class for Common Good Vermontās Fundraising and Development program next Thursday (including homework), a board meeting for Vermont Independent Media next Friday, and the Peopleās Health and Wellness Clinicās Open House on the 18th, I think Iāll be able to breathe. Iām also writing 5 grant proposals. Given my track record, I will likely also read a few books a week to get me through.Ā
By then, the daffodils will be abloom, and the tulips in my front yard will be pushing through buds of deep purple. By then, Iāll need the visual reminder that transformation is sometimes invisible. The landscape may look reliably the same, but it is we who are different every moment we exist within it.Ā
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My favorite professor reads romance novels to unwind. I prefer murder mysteries. We all need our brain candy.