This month's SJT theme, from our host Kim, is Wintering. I read Katherine May's book by that title last year. In the book, winter is a metaphor for difficult times (it's there in the subtitle, "The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times"), but it's also a literal season. Katherine May hibernates, reads differently from the way she does in summer, and even swims in icy cold water. Here's a quote from the book: "However it arrives, wintering is usually involuntary, lonely, and deeply painful. Yet it’s also inevitable. We like to imagine that it’s possible for life to be one eternal summer and that we have uniquely failed to achieve that for ourselves. We dream of an equatorial habitat, forever close to the sun, an endless, unvarying high season."
I only have one problem with the book. While I appreciate a good metaphor, and I love thinking about seasons and vicariously enjoying them through friends' postings on social media, I live near to the equator, in Kampala, Uganda. I really do have that "equatorial habitat" of the quote. I reflected on this back in 2019 from another tropical home. It's not that there aren't seasons, but winter really isn't one of them. Right now it's the rainy season, and I bundle up in a cardigan every morning, but today there was a high of 85 degrees Fahrenheit (29 Celsius), so it wasn't exactly cold. (Even if it were, I assure you that I would not swim in icy water like Katherine May.) When you live in the tropics, sadness and melancholy, as well as joy and delight, are accompanied by bright blue skies and warm temperatures. Life isn’t a constant beach vacation, wherever you live. The equator, that nearby imaginary line, doesn’t cross out grief; every part of the planet is filled with people who feel all the same emotions, whatever the weather. You have to find a different metaphor here, because winter isn’t coming. Still, as the book suggests, I need to rest, be kind to myself, recognize that my energy fluctuates and take a break. That's why I put aside the ninth grade exams I was grading and worked on this post instead. I decided to write a haibun, using some winter photos sent by friends from the US earlier this week.
Wintering
How surprised and shocked we’d be if a sudden snowfall covered our bougainvillea and our jacaranda tree, here in our tropical garden! Friends seven thousand miles away sent photos of how it looks when seasons clash, chilling bright blooms. So tonight we’ll hibernate in spirit, looking at the cold they have shared with us, who don’t have our own. We’ll drink hot tea, imagining that bare feet on the cool tile floor are actually freezing. We’ll turn on a fan and sleep under a blanket.
Snow engulfs roses
In a garden far away
A borrowed winter
©Ruth Bowen Hersey
Our Poetry Friday roundup this week will be at Carol's place.
13 comments:
Ruth, you raise such a great point about the metaphor of winter and the season. I have lived on an island in the southeastern US most of my life, and I also understand the tropical winters of warmth - and have wintered in the heat as well. I like the way you shape the thinking and bring a different perspective.
I love this idea of a borrowed winter. Like you, we never get snow. We do have winter, though. It's been cold lately, between 45 and 65 F, which is fine with me. I get to cuddle in a blanket and could have a fire in the fireplace. I understand what you mean when you say that grief happens, even when the sun is bright and warm. That sounds like a good topic for a poem. How do you grieve when the sky is always clear? Perhaps we need to dig deeper for better metaphors.
Ruth, you make a valid point. Grief doesn't just disappear because you cross an imaginary line on the globe. any of us think the grass is always greener... We all have seasons in our life: the spring of anticipation, the summer of joy, the autumn of reflection, the winter of grief. No matter where we live, we all share the same emotions. Bob
Ruth, your wintering season doesn't exist but you found a way to capture it. The photos send are beautiful. Virginia does not get many snowfalls so my daughter, husband and 3 little girls travel to West Virginia for snow adventures and skiing. I do miss the beauty of snowy day like I had in NY but the cold that exists here is enough for now. Your prose piece and haiku are lovely. Borrowed winter makes an interesting thought. Thank you for your perspective.
Thank you for sharing your beautiful poem, and your apt thoughts on applying the themes of wintering in the absence of cold. Though I live in a region with cold winters, we've been having less and less of it over the years. I've always had a seasonal rhythm, and it's just as out of whack as the seasons themselves... learning to craft that pattern in and for ourselves to allow for periods of rest is, I suspect, a skill many of us could use.
It's serendipity that the book, Wintering, was just donated to the bookstore where I work, & I grabbed it, seems intriguing. Now, when I read, I'll think of you, Ruth, & your widening of the metaphor many of us grew up with. Yes, "winter" in it varied permutations does visit all of us, whether in tropical temps or arctic blasts. Your idea of 'borrowing' is one I won't ever forget!
Ruth, what a good reminder that the metaphor of winter as sadness and melancholy is not as clear for folks in an equatorial habitat. The same emotions exist in all people. I love the last line especially in your haiku--"A borrowed winter." Sweet.
Ruth, This is such a thoughtful post. Of course, not everyone has a winter and can relate to a winter metaphor unless it's about the end of life (maybe). I think that grief is the same, although experienced differently, no matter what the season. Loss is loss. Dealing with loss occurs whether it is 30 degrees or 85 degrees. I tutored a girl living in Africa last year - our weather varied widely and sometimes brought laughter to our meetings! I will escape our Northern winter to go to the Carribean this year for a month - a length of time I've never been away. While I look forward to it - I wonder what my emotions will be. You might hear from me in the future about this. Take care.
You remind us that metaphors don't work in every situation. I like your idea of borrowed winter, the pics are beautiful. i love your description - when seasons clash, killing bright blooms.
I was in UT for Thanksgiving and really hoping for some snow, but we only had a dusting. It was falling during church & I told my son. He asked me if I wanted him to take me home so I could watch it! I declined and it stopped by the time church was over. And surprise, Greensboro also had a dusting of snow this week, before I came home.
Our next two weeks, filled with activities, have me longing for some "nestled bliss of nowhere else to be."
Do you even get a holiday break? I hope you'll have some slow time too!
I'm actually rereading Wintering right now! I enjoyed your reflections on how the metaphor might be strained in some climates. Your haibun is perfect and that line "a borrowed winter" is the best! I'm so glad you opted to nourish yourself (and us!) by writing and sharing.
Thank you for this really important perspective! I really struggle with the dark days of winter in the Mid-Atlantic part of North America, but I remember living near the equator (Penang, Malaysia) and how even though I lived at the beach, it definitely wasn't always sunshine and happiness. And yes to putting the papers aside and taking time for poetry.
A good reminder that whether or not your weather is (or is not) the actual winter, we need to give ourselves the grace to have some kind of hibernation to heal our souls.
I love your phrase "a borrowed winter." Thank you for this warm post and for taking the time away to share it.
Post a Comment