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. 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 Tanita's place.
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