Beyond The Dusted Whiteness



 “In any man who dies there dies with him, his first snow and kiss and fight. Not people die but worlds die.”-Yevtushenko


I think there is always something exhilarating about snow….a promise of new start on a clear canvas, a hint of another hope in Opal. It makes me feel as if you are in a partial trance of disappeared reality.


Relentless and impersonal, a blizzard is like the product of uncertain chances of our life that we are powerless to control. As if it lashes at our attempts to sort the reality and unreal, good and bad, morality and consequence. The snow implores me to look at the ‘Whiteness’ of the sourrounding…all-consuming feeling of individual powerlessness to influence your path of fate.


Snow is very contradictory in interpretation and nature. It is pure as well as cold and uncaring. It covers and it cleans. It destroys and beautify at the same time. The dualiam of snow is a reflection of our mind and the complexities of all human relationship and life situation.


Each of us react differently to snow. Some may find it beautiful,though it plummets with force ,as if you have veiled your inner turmoil with exterior calmness. Some may find it pure and precious, as to recapture the freedom and innocent brilliance of your childhood. For some, it may be neither beautiful nor dangerous. It simply is snow…just an occurance.


Often snow can be used as a symbolic cleansing or a blanket obscuring the truth. Snow can be represented in the sense of bare desolation. It can evoke nostalgia of memories past.


Snow falling on every branches, reeds and twigs of the trees as we come in terms with our places and it conceals the real loss and transience of life.


Stay warm.
About the author
Ritu is one who lives in the no-man's-land halfway between dreams and reality. She scribbles and dabbles in the alchemy of transforming the cynicism of existence into optimism of words as they are better of felt than understood. These words are not pictures of your life, nor they are cryptic or pretentious. She bathes with reality not in silence but through the web of words as she realizes life is only a dialogue of nature.

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