All we can do is predict the storm and prepare for it as best we can.
Mother Nature does her best to love each of her creations.
Not out of malice. Caprice, maybe.
All you can do is accept it.
And when the last snow flake has landed and the winds throaty roar has faded into eerie silence, is a chance for rediscovery.
And Mother Nature allows us to choose the soundtrack.
She did make us predictably stubborn.
They say the arrow of time goes only in one direction. And that the direction is shown by entropy, so says physics.
Physics also describes music as a collection of sounds. A capsule of notes and intervals and pitch and rhythm, if you will.
But how do you go from ingesting this capsule to forming a memory? Where things are clear to the exclusion of all else.
And no one explained how ingesting this capsule makes time travel possible - as you are transported to different sands and smells, in a mere instant.
And no one even mentioned about the tears that now well up and on the brink of rushing down your face.
How could they have missed all this?
Maybe they lived that moment and chose to let us have our own.
Maybe they knew after all and did not have words enough to say it.
Maybe they could say it, but chose to read words of another.
Friedrich Nietzsche wrote: “For nothing is self-sufficient, neither in us ourselves nor in things; and if our soul has trembled with happiness and sounded like a harp string just once, all eternity was needed to produce this one event—and in this single moment of affirmation all eternity was called good, redeemed, justified, and affirmed.”
Maybe nothing more ever needed to be said.
