White

When the wind is calm and the snow falls Japan is at it’s best.  A sound vacuum is created.  How is it possible to be seeing so much movement, such a release of power, so much light, but not be able to hear it.   You can only see and feel this silent storm.  Somewhere though, it must be loud, there must be anger, crashing, clouds, water; heaven’s cold steel snow making factory.  And then it falls, falls falls… patiently, patiently; weighing nothing, a snow flake has to be patient.  Quietly, they gently unfold thorugh the air until lying down in place with no impact at all.  Each one of the trillions and trillions of snowflakes keeps its unique shape and when the time has come it takes its place amongst the others.  Some wrap the stark black tree branches in Victorian lace, many line up on the rice fields to create a bright white sea, some put sweet creamy icing on the country house roofs.  Void of all color, it’s nothing more than eye blinding light.  Whatever it touches, it outshines to create a silhouette world.  The three flying swans painted against the glowing white sky look like the took a bath in ash.  A silent silhouette world.

It suits Japan.  Chaos, noise, machines, storms, all come together and settle; clean, white, quietly and in order with no trace of their beginnings.  But this white blanket is unforgiving, aesethetically and practically.  It’s lovely to stare at from afar in a warm safe familiar place, but it’s so cold to the touch, so uninviting and harsh.   So delicate and sensitive to any unfamiliar influence, but as a whole still able to retain and replenish.  Replenish itself, the earth and my appreciation for the cold, still silence of the winter in the country where I live.

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