I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, ‘Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again’.
the woods of winter are an exercise in a patient build up… as autumn slowly trickles down to freezing point, the last vestiges of life mellow down to ensure survival… the chirrups and cackles tone down to a low humdrum… the winds turn to rustling rather than ruffling, and the bustle of the brooks turns into plops of droplets wresting themselves free from the ice…
the acoustics are not alone though, the visuals play their part too… the colours retract their resplendence and turn to a brooding monochrome… the contrasts start overblowing into black and the large swathes of green dominating the landscape curdle down into dark dollops dotting the white canvas… the boulders go into a ceremonial white as do the mountaintops…
if the sun shines, the cold burns in cycles of shade… the fingers numbing the second one digs them into the snow, which also mischievously balls up into nooks and crannies inside the shoe to create a safe dominion as the toes fidget around in apparent discomfort… if overcast, one feels sandwiched rather mercilessly between two dimensions of white…
then there are pug marks adorning the snow… from bears to birds, everyone seems to fancy a trot upon the carpet of snow, heeding little to the need for anonymity… the woods of winter are mellow and brazen simultaneously… the overall aura is subdued yet there is enough animation for the essence of transformation to remain…
the woods of winter are a wizened lot… chipping away gradually at millennia of patterns to carve out a character of their own… the dark canopy cajoling a silent resolve… carrying the burden of autumn to find deliverance in spring…
musings on mountain forests in winter, snowscapes around Himachal and Uttarakhand…
