This was going to be a post about snow – prompted by a couple of lines from Sylvia Plath that snagged my flighty attention on Instagram.
Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person.
– Sylvia Plath
But it quickly dawned on me that reflecting on snowy winters past would only worsen the ache I have for epic snowfall, the likes of which Norway and Sweden had this past month.
January in England’s north was grim, dominated by grey skies and rain that wouldn’t quit. I wasn’t prepared; I don’t think anyone was, for the spirit-crushing weight of one post-apocalyptic-esque sunless day after another after another.
My dad, who’s in his mid-sixties, said it’s been the gloomiest winter of his lifetime. When the sun broke through this afternoon, he announced, ‘Bloody hell, it’s the first day we’ve been able to hang the washing out in two months!’
I’m not thrilled to be the bearer of a bleak blog post and want to steer you towards a song I randomly remembered a couple of weeks ago and have been repeatedly returning to – Skogen by the Swedish ambient folk duo Occult, who I interviewed for Wyrd Words & Effigies back in 2015.
To accompany this sublimely intimate, spine-tingler of a track, I’d like to introduce you to some trees which provided company during January and that I captured in their stark winter splendour. I had the help of a new kaleidoscope filter that I’m unashamedly obsessed with.
P.S. I didn’t intend on mentioning this Handpan Nervous System Reset by Malte Marten, but it started playing after Skogen (which of course I was listening to while writing) so I took it as a sign. It’s another piece of music I listened to a lot in January and can recommend for other frazzled and disorientated souls.
A Wyrd Of Her Own 