Winter Language
The Vocabulary of Melting
The casts of tracks form ice sculptures on the path,
bike tires and bunny feet, snow boots and squirrel toes.
They are guardrails for unexpected bubbles
half-domed on the pavement and glistening in the sun.
These little miracles of the temporary thaw
are only distant cousins of bubblegum hijinks
and dish soap accidents—they deserve their own name.
Wubble? Frobble? Thawble? Someone please rectify this.
And while we’re at it, we need a word for when
the sun winks in flirtation on a gray day,
then blinks groggily the next, until it gazes down
lovingly enough to set the thaw in motion.
One more too, for when the roof ice crackles
and snow sheets tumble and crash. A word between
snowfall and waterfall, when a little becomes a lot,
a rising intensity, a trickle turned flood—
a word to inspire us when we feel frozen.
the lost spells
“Ice Willow” by Mara Koenig/USFWS
If you haven’t already indulged in this visual treat, I recommend curling up with the lost spells for an hour. In the middle of a busy coffee shop, sardined between one long-legged man at the table to my left and a stark conversationalist with a bulky winter coat to my right, I found something akin to a meditative state among Jackie Morris’s enchanting paintings and Robert Macfarlane’s poems. My favorite poem was “swallow,” but I particularly loved this:
“Thrift blooms on spoil-heap and tailing,
for Thrift knows hardship is a limit not
a failing; Thrift persists despite all odds,
and Thrift’s gift is — Thrift’s grace is —
to give a glimpse of hope in the tightest
of spots, the toughest of places.”
— excerpt of “thrift” by Robert Macfarlane, the lost spells
(Wondering what thrift looks like? Wikipedia has you covered.)
To pick a favorite of Morris’s paintings proved impossible—how could I choose between the contented fox of “silver birch” and the badgered badger of “woodpecker” and all the rest? A friend mentioned Morris’s talent for lifelike eyes and I have to agree. I felt like I made eye contact with an egret, was stared down by a jackdaw, my soul considered by a seal.
What would you like an incantation for? I’m no traveling poet, but if you give me a prompt I’ll give it a shot. Or please write your own—I’d love to read it! If you need some inspiration, how about a quiet walk (no earbuds, no chatting) to a coffee shop? I gathered my thoughts for “The Vocabulary of Melting” on a walk to get my bangs trimmed, then organized those snippets over a hot latte under a sunny window.
What poem did you enjoy the most in the lost spells?
January’s Book
Next we’re venturing to Hawai’i with Kuleana: A Story of Family, Land, and Legacy in Old Hawai’i by Sara Kehaulani Goo. I have a few books from a trip to Hawai’i four years ago that I’ll be breaking out to supplement this one, including Rainforest Pu’uhonua by Kahikahealani Wright and Hawai’i’s Story by Queen Liliuokalani.
Wishing you a happy new year!
Additional Image Credits
Doodle reference photo: “Eating snow” by Bruno Bolzano
”Lakeside Door County” by Lucas Gray
Citation Sources
Macfarlane, Robert and Jackie Morris. the lost spells. Hamish Hamilton, 2020.
