I’m not a fan of extreme weather. I grew up a few blocks from the ocean, ensconced in a mountain ringed valley that sloped down to the sea. The weather was mild but changeable. I remember a day when I walked the four blocks to school and saw it snowing on one side of the street, sleeting on the other, raining further down the street, and shafts of sunlight breaking through on the far end of it all and sending a vibrantly coloured rainbow piercing through the lot of it.
Mostly though, it rained. And often, during the brief respites, fog rose up in great grey billows from off the nearby water. I’ve moved from there, from that climate of rain and fog and general soggyness, to the sterling beauty of our new home in the mountains. Where the summers are oppressively hot at times, and the winters are bitterly chill and long.
And I love it. Oh how I love it. Even as I type, my too pale hands are laced with the pale purple pattern of my capillaries, and I am snugging my feet deeper into my slippers and wriggling my toes in hopes of shaking the numbness from them. But tonight, as we embarked on the grand adventure of delivering a seven foot ficus tree to dear, green thumbed friends, I took in the sight of the winter sky and gasped. Literally, gasped at the glory and the wonder of it.
I found myself searching for pictures online tonight, trying to find one to share with you that could in some small part demonstrate the beauty of the sky here in our northern home. But there are none anywhere near adequate. Stale pictures of pin-pricked blackness. There is no way they can display for you the dizzying sight, the depth and dimension of a chilly dark sky spiralling upwards into the heavens, and an all encompassing splatter of silvered stars shining forth like tiny beacons.
As I stood there, neck and back arched in an attempt to take in the fullest sight possible, I no longer lamented the lack of amenities in our small town here. Perhaps there are no operas here. Perhaps the bookstore can be crossed in five long paces in one direction and three in the other. Perhaps there is little in the way of stunning architecture to inspire my all too latent imagination. But oh the glorious sight of the evening sky.
The place I once called home is too brightly lit, too foggy, too polluted, to afford such a sight. Suddenly all reservations flee and I am glad to call this small slice of heaven my home.
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22 Comments
sounds beautiful!
I wouldn’t trade living by the ocean but the cloud cover means no stars at night (maybe a few nights a year) and I dearly miss them. Oh, and changing leaves. Sounds like you’ve got a beautiful place.
Melanie J´s last blog post..Funk Busting
Magnificent imagery!
it has been several years now since i have experienced cold. i remember as a child sitting next to the fire and standing over the vent in the floor watching my nightgown tent and fill with swirling warm air. i recall the crispness of the air and watching my breath. enjoy!
beth i´s last blog post..thanksgiving
I hate being cold too. However, the odd time you look out and the horror frost has settled on the trees overnight, and the landscape is blanketed in a fresh carpet of snow, and it all looks so peaceful… that odd moment, before I step outside, I love it.
This word painging you’ve just offered us is one of the reasons we want to live in a teeny, tiny town in the middle of nowhere someday . . . :)
That sounds fantastic! What great descriptions you give. I lived near the ocean once too, and I miss it greatly. (And little bookshops like that have so much character. I love visiting small bookshops.)
Happy Thanksgiving!
I LOVE this. THIS is why I paint. Because there is never a photo that comes close. But sometimes when I paint I can capture that visceral spiritual response to nature with color and texture of my own. But I must confess, even my own art never holds a candle to the way I feel about the REAL THING.
You are right. It is beautiful where you are. And here we do get too much fog, cloud cover and haze on a regular basis to enjoy the mountains overhead and the starry skies at night. But on those rare occasions when the clouds do part and we can see the mountains at least, I am in awe that Father God would let me live in such a special place every single day. And if that wasn’t enough, He threw in bald eagles and fields of blueberries for good measure. I love it here in Canada. And besides, you live here! Who wouldn’t love the country just because of that one perk?! =)
breathless….that is what happens to me. We truly are blessed, I agree. There is something about he sky here….you can literally hear the star singing in cold months. Beautiful post Kim….its all about perspective isn’t it. (we’ll need to link back to this post in february…remind me!)
I pruned and fertilized the tree….the children are talking to her and trying to make her feel welcome…so cute! Thanks again!
Jenn´s last blog post..~Gestating Elephant Style~
That cold, black winter sky – who knew it could be magnificent? But I wholeheartedly agree. I love the Alaska sky.
(Do you get frequent views of the Northern Lights where you are?)
What a picture you paint with words! It sounds lovely.
As for bookstores, isn’t that what Amazon.com and Ebay are for? ;D
No need to share a picture when your words painted a better one :) Thank you.
Jenna´s last blog post..At The Moment…
Oh, boy, do I want to live where you live!
Jenna Consolo´s last blog post..The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
Ah, how neat! What a blessing to love where you live, in spit eof imperfections. Naturally, this was beautifully written.
Heidi Ashworth´s last blog post..Happy Thanksgiving To You and You and You!
Sounds glorious…
I wish I could see it!
I love-love-LOVE your writing. I have told you this. After this post, I am telling you again: I LOVE your writing!! That was a downright delicious description. :-)
I am sure it was breathtaking! I have had a lot of “wow” nature moments lately, too.
It’s true.
I can see it. Who needs pictures when we have you? Mwah.
You don’t need a picture…you just painted an even more beautiful one with your words.