For far too long I’ve looked at winter as a barren beast, something through which we must trudge, bundled and bound in scarves and sweaters and coats that erase all the turns and angles of a body. Faceless and formless, I felt that winter was something to be endured and suffered, a penance for all the summer fun we had. It was punishment and crime at once, at least it seemed to be. Looking back, perhaps I was wrong ~ wrong about winter, wrong about more.
The piano starts, stepping into the snow then stepping into the background and allowing the cello to cry out in plaintive sorrow, sharing the winter hurt. Their duet, as much a dance as a song, music and mental image, is sadness and reconciliation, much like the way my vision of winter has changed and evolved over the years. Could there be a new way of feeling winter that is comprised of gratitude and loveliness? Might the light at this time of year, be it sun or candle, appear more potent than what comes in summer? That would make this moment somehow just as precious, even as it feels more brittle. Does this nocturne by Chopin convey a similar shift in perception, embodying the way I’m finding a new appreciation for the wilderness of the season? Smoke and pine carry on the wind, the way the notes of this piece vibrate in similar and singular fashion.
