THE SILENT SNOW
I live in the mid-Atlantic region where the winters have been so mild over the last few years that a reasonably hard winter comes as something of a shock. This year's winter has been reminiscent of the winters of the 1950's that I grew up with in New England.
In those days, it was not unusual for snow to be on the ground for weeks on end. Temperatures would get so cold that the manual transmission grease would thicken into an unmovable glob inside the gearbox. If you were forgetful enough to leave it in gear when you parked the car the night before then you had to sit there with your foot on the clutch until the engine warmed the grease sufficiently to allow you to put it in neutral.
What I loved best was how quiet it was. Snow seems to absorb sound, allowing us to experience the primeval silence that existed before the machine age, a silence broken only by the sounds of nature, be it the gentle burbling of a stream freshly quickened by melting snow or the harsh screech of a blue jay that carries with it the hint of dangers unseen.
Winter is a season that has teeth. Winter thins the herd. It kills off the germs and the weeds, and it will kill you too if you get give it half a chance. Or drive you mad.
Below is a link to a dramatization of a haunting short story writen by Conrad AIken, entitled "The Silent Snow, the Secret Snow." Written in the 1930's, the story deals directly with the very modern topic of youthful alientation and circles around the topic of a disease that was unknown and unnamed in those days: Autism, a disease that today overshadows so many young lives and families.
February 3, 2010
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