Liminal Thoughts By the Fence

What lies at the heart of this impulse to stand out in a field somewhere and contemplate snow, gates and fences on a bitterly cold day in February?

Is it a simple and somewhat melancholy pleasure which arises out viewing wide expanses of rippling snow demarcated by old rails and pipe gates, not a building in sight? Is it thoughts of emptiness? Is it the sound of the hollow wind which sweeps across this desert of cold, sculpting random waves, billows, figurines and abstract shapes as it passes? Is it the intense colours of the deep shadows which lie over and around everything? Is it a desire for order and containment which is symbolized by old cedar rails and rusty gates? Is it the realm which beckons beyond the gates?

In winter, the landscape is revealed to a patient and thoughtful wanderer as it is at no other time in the turning year. I see the undulating shapes of the landscape and can trace its rocky bones with my eyes. I sense its peaceful slumber, its slow dreams and the springtime which is to come (although spring seems far away on such a day as this). If I am quiet and observant, there are rainbows of colour to be seen in the snow and shadows, there is music in the wind.

It all comes down to stillness, to being in the moment. Perhaps there is no profound reason for being my here at all - it is enough simply to be in this place, to be doing this very thing and at this moment and not wondering why.