The Sketches: The Hand of Magic
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The Sketches: The Hand of Magic

Last Updated on February 12, 2023 by Patrick

hand of magic, snow, photography

We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt.

Walter Scott.

There is something about snow that is magical. I don’t really know what, but it is the whiteness of it, it’s like a wedding veil.

I have noticed it many, many times before and understood that stillness becomes white, not black.

But is it all about water and movement? Are we all made of water? Can we move without water?

One can say.. Air! Maybe.. but movement, adaptation, malleability, flexibility, stretchness to maybe the infinite.

How can we measure life? By the pressence of water. So, where there is water, there’s life.

But snow? What can we say about it? I saw its purpose: protection of life. Under the coat of snow, the children of life dwell, sleep, rest, are returned to their essence.

Cycles of life come with the greatness of ultralight of the Sun at zenith, the white light with its radiance melting the coat of snow in Nature. Then, life reveals itself. So, the higher the zenith on the sky vault, the faster life comes back to life.

Dormant potentials and powers rise and then, the forest comes back to flourishing at the summer solstice, the meadows are filled with flowers and the trees with fruits, rivers running through them and animals feed and live, thrive so we can enjoy them, so we can learn from them.

Snow is not frozen water, but the dance of still air in unmoving water. It is the music behind the silence of natural magic. Energies dance and frozen water is just a pause behind its music.

Did you notice that northern animals have a white winter coat just like its snow upon the landscape? How come this happens? Do they know and change their furs or Nature does everything for them? How do they know to make their furs nearly white? Or is it engraved in their natural soul?

Questions, but where are the answers? Gosh.. another question!

I found that questions themselves are answers spoken interrogatively, which means asking yourself something you’d like to find out. You and only you can give yourself the answer. A question is like praying to your innermost. The answers come springing from within. And surely afterwards, nature’s advice is like snow – the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into the mind. So I keep silent under the snow…

 

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