At the threshold of the cold season, grey and often a little sad, I try to look at what surrounds me in a different way and I am surprised by what I see.
The air was damp
But it was not raining.
The cool wind cleared my thoughts
in the undergrowth behind the cathedral.
Frozen fingers.
Good heavens ! Iwould never stop learning.
And even though it was damp and cold
the moment was beautiful.
Photo: Today it is windy in Nelson. I find the wind unreasonable, frankly, almost outrageous. I have chosen a winter photo in Outaouais, which better expresses the harshness of winter and the wind.
We were waiting for the words
While listening to the wind
It spoke with its own words
In gusts and bravadoes
Is it really useful?
I wanted to know
What is the point of it?
but it had its own purpose
a windy logic
photo : Ile d’Orléans en hiver
Photo : Winter beauty, Nelson
Winter is cold and/or rainy in Nelson this year: 2 degrees at night, 12 degrees during the day, when it’s sunny. Or it’s warmer but rains for several days in a row, which is usually quite rare in this part of the world. My passion for cold-water swimming has taken a hit. I haven’t been able to swim for three weeks because of the rain, then because the water was contaminated, or because the road was blocked by landslides. When I resumed my routine, the water was 11 degrees (still one degree cooler than the cold water baths the Tour de France cyclists have), a degree higher than last year at this time of year, but the experience felt colder because the ambient air was around 8 or 9 degrees in the morning, whereas last year, the 10 degree water felt more comfortable because I still felt the warmth of the sun at 12 or 13 degrees. All these changes are due, according to experts, to La Nina and climate change in general. In fact, I am in my fourth year of winter swimming and no two winters have been the same. I wonder what next winter will bring.
photo: Photo: The church of Penally in winter, yet one always feels as if it’s winter in an old church like this one, from the Celts to the Normans, fragments of Norman life inside, I feel at home.
Here, the wind speaks in syllables older than language.
Winter asserts itself in the vastness of the white space,
which emits a silence.
My thoughts thinned by the cold.
The ancient gesture of the sun passing low over the hills like a hand across the brow. Again.
Solitude is so full it empties the self.
I listen to the snow melting under stone.
I feel at home
