O Wind, If winter comes can spring be far behind?
P. B. Shelley – Ode to the West Wind
There are pieces of Art that have the power to stick to your mind and accompany you for the rest of your life. The words of a song and its music, the colours and lines of a painting, passages from your beloved novels, or verses of poems. The last verse of Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind has that power on me. Since the very first time I read it (it was during an English Literature class and I was 17) these words, their rhythm, have conquered my soul and never abandoned me.
A thought about winter that Emma shared a few days ago made me re-think about this poem and this line in particular. It’s the beginning of March and it’s still freezing cold; here in Torino and on the surrounding mountains snow is still graciously falling down, offering us the last glimpses of her pure and delicate white mantel.
For much that I like snow, cold and my coat, I long for spring and the rebirth she will bring along, but winter just seems to be longer and colder. So I go back to this verse, to its great hope and power of change and regeneration. Seasons comes and go. Death will be followed by life again.
It is with enchantment and this hope in my heart that I can’t just stay at home on days like this. I need to take my camera and go out, no matter the cold and the snow. I need to immerse into the white landscape and shoot. To be alone, a lonely walker, and tell my story, my vision.
On the day I shoot two of these photographs I ended up walking trough a path with the snow at my knees. It was falling quite copiously and I had to pay great attention to my camera, but the feeling out there was so peaceful and the landscape so beautiful that I just didn’t care. I cared when – back home – my nose started sneezing and my throat aching!
The road leading us towards spring may still be quite long, or maybe not. I recall Shelley’s words and enjoy the photographs, sharing my vision and feeling of winter, waving goodbye and thanking for her gifts.