Symphony of Cracking – The Music of Winter

Plummeting temperatures ushering in a stillness without comparison

Fluidity gives way to an opaque stiffness, often shimmering and beautiful

Water vapor crystallizes, bonding to every branch, building, and roadway

Movement slows to a crawl until complete penetration prevents it

Blades of grass, long since drained of their green, stand like frozen soldiers

Branchy trees, wearing coats of white, dazzle and amaze passing humans

The visual interpretation of winter is on display in every direction and dimension

And yet therein lies something which has no physical form nor figure

Beyond transparency, transcendent in nature, sensual and sensitive

An ethereal and silent summons which bonds to the ambience of everywhere

A auditory request bordering on the surreal, springs forth in response

Emerging from somewhere, or nowhere, or perhaps anywhere

Directed on the four winds and all passageways found in between

Slipping unnoticed through houses, villages, across hearths and fields

Washing past humankind as a light breeze or a burst of psychic energy

An immenseness in stature, the force holds the inclination of quiet inspiration

Just a simple message, no magical incantation, no formidable chant

Calling out to the frozen landscape, whispers perched upon the mountaintops

Seeking a conductor, a rare offer of employment, to lead the symphony of cracking

One skilled in managing the echograms of the outdoors, the intensity and the masking

It’s not the sight of nature that so enlightens one so chosen, but instead it’s sound

Ponds, lakes, puddles, and streams exchange liquid volumes for sheets of ice

Smaller bodies give themselves freely to a state of absolute frozenness

Their core nothing more than a chamber of trapped air, devoid of outside influence

Shapes and sizes each unique and one-of-a-kind, as are the tiny crevices beneath

As night overtakes the meager rays of the winter day, the temperatures again dive

The few beads of moisture fall into line and join their frozen brethren

For dawn awaits, the conductor has been signaled, and the audience collected

The final preparations of the upcoming musical event are completed

Without fanfare or announcement, the first rays of sunlight peek into the darkness

Splintering at first, threading their way through the cracks in the high peaks

Then spilling forth, as if a navigation lock was suddenly thrust fully wide

Bringing forth cascading light, blinding but gentle, and much needed warmth

Baton held high, the landscape focuses on the arrival of the conductor

And with a pleasing rapidness, the heat bursts forth, colliding with the ice

In the distance, the first guttural crack cries out, booming with vigor

Another joins and then another, forming a chorus of shearing snowpack

A deep rumbling of a remote avalanche provides a steady percussion section

Soprano and alto creaks and groans reverberate playfully exchanging pitches

A spherical divergence claims every airwave, filling the free space with sound

The wavelength of the transient echoes providing layers upon layers of richness

Higher and higher the sun rises into the morning sky, more light and more heat

Change happening everywhere simultaneously, now visible to humankind

And movement, hours ago impossible, steps from behind the stage curtain

Boldly asserting dominance across the landscape, as the thaw continues

The conductor, our Helios, our Sol, calls for Calando Ritardando

And slowly the cracking dissipates, leaving only scattered dripping in it’s place

The curtain closes on this sunrise performance, the cold completely yielding

Until another frozen eve, with a captive audience, and sufficient ice

Then we shall be treated to another consideration of sound contemplation

Additional Reading from the Author of Symphony of Cracking

R.J. Schwartz is an American Poet and Author.

His complete works on The Creative Exiles Website can be found here

The Gypsy Thread is a huge collection of his original work

Ralph also writes on HubPages

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R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all.I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed.I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another.I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me.I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

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