Details of a Brooklyn Ice Storm
To rationalize is to be human, I think, because how else would we get through our lives if we weren’t able to somehow come to terms with all the fucked up, tragic things that are constantly going on all around us every single minute of every single day? And sometimes, rationalizing means taking a look at the big picture, and forcing ourselves to admit that, in this crazy world, our little problems don’t amount to very much at all. Like, not even a hill of beans. Not even that! Other times, we can only muster up enough spirit to keep going if we forget about the world at large, and focus on the small, perfect moments of beauty that life manages to throw our way, even in the midst of so much chaos.
And after last night’s snow and ice and rain storm, which left Brooklyn covered in the kind of deep, slushy puddles that circle whole blocks like some kind of urban moat, it’s kind of important to put blinders on so that you can’t see all the piles of heavy, gray snow that make walking to the subway practically impossible. So instead of looking at the weather-induced misery that stretches as far as the eye can see, look at the trees bearing branches seemingly sculpted from glass and stop to admire the twisted, glossy creeping vines entwined with one another, but made brittle by the ice. And also, you know, read some poetry. Maybe start with Frank O’Hara’s “A City in Winter,” which is appropriate to read right now for, oh, so many reasons. I’ll leave you with but a few lines, but please read more, nothing is quite like poetry in the winter. Nothing.
The snow drifts low
and yet neglects to cover me, and I
dance just ahead to keep my heart in sight.
