It is now the middle of winter, and though we have already passed the winter solstice and the days are growing, the bulk of winter lies before us. Spring is at least three months away.
One thing about winter that I have noticed here is the relative lack of natural sounds. The snow makes no sound as it piles up. (It is amusing to imagine what it would sound like if flakes made metallic sounds, like jingling keys, when they hit each other. Winter would be cacophony.) Of course there is the squeak and crunch of snow as one plods along, but even that is man-made. Nature seems to take a symphonic rest during winter. It is undoubtedly resting for the upcoming program: rain and birds in the spring and summer, and rustling leaves in the [autumn]. There is the trickle of melted snow forming streams and ponds, and the moan and creak of the ice layer the stream as it begins to flow again. Late summer will bring fabulous thunderstorms (Mam nadziela) that will keep me up at night. (And perhaps I’ll be able to capture it on film this time.)
In the meantime, all I can do is appreciate the quiet beauty of winter. And it is spectacular. In Bristol snow never stays on the ground for longer than ten days (which would be exceptionally long). There might be spots of snow in heavily shaded areas, but not the continual blanket of Lipnica. The temperature is consistently below zero, so old snow remains as a foundation for the occasional flurries. Yet despite the amount of snow on the ground, it really hasn’t snowed that frequently. The bulk of the snow now on the ground is from two heavy snow falls, and it hasn’t done much more than flurry since then.