Category: Nature

Spring Adventures: Watching Nature Unfold

We had plans for a lovely bike ride by the bays and knolls near our home, a hike in the verdant hillsides, or even a walk by the stream/river by our home where all our fellow creatures are preparing for the year ahead. Soon, the ducklings and goslings will hatch. Everywhere you see, there are signs of nest building and it is endlessly fascinating to sit and watch the frenetic spring cleaning happening, even if it isn’t happening in our own home. I empathized with Mole in the Wind in the Willows : Who wants to wallow inside the home, dusting old furniture and mopping dusty floors when the world outside is so full of beauty and promise? 

The son and I had our spring hopes dashed for us with a bout of flu. That feeling of enormous promise that accompanies spring was dampened somewhat by the high fevers, and we moped about the house. 

Watching Spring

When the fever subsided, we pulled ourselves to sit outside and watch spring at least. The crows and wrens stopped flying and did a double take mid-air seeing our watch-fest. If AI interpreted their language, I am sure we’d have some semblance of this:

“These two restless souls – what are they doing sitting and watching?”

“I know – been seeing them for the past few minutes. Nothing? Are they really doing Nothing?”

“Strange!” 

But this Nothing gave rise to something marvelous. We noticed the fresh green leaves sprouting in the ginkgo and maple trees. Some of the cherry trees had blossomed out of their flowery cloaks into their leafy ones, while others were still in their efflorescent robes of pink and white. 

“See this leaf? “ said the son. “It is shaped so that it can fly very fast and the seeds within can spread when it falls!” 

I peered into the leaves he was showing me, and it was true. I remember learning to make a paper airplane in a pattern like that once, and watched mesmerized as it floated down and away every time we launched it. What a brilliant inspiration? 

Right enough, we searched for the tree in question, and it is called the Hot Wings Tartarium Tree. The Hot Wings maple tree is a low maintenance beauty whose seeds are called Samaras.


Nature is astounding – every leaf, seed, flower, tree, shrub, plant, trunk, twig is a marvel in itself and sometimes sitting and watching is the best reward.

We came back inside flush with the knowledge of having seen a new wonder, and felt better.

Poems & Trees:

I think I shall never see 

A poem as lovely as a tree

 – Joyce Kilmer

The poem finishes on these wise lines:

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

Only Nature can do accomplish this fest without fanfare.

The Joys of Walking: National Walking Day Reflections

Happy National Walking Day

I was pleasantly surprised to know that today (the first Wednesday of April) is National Walking Day sponsored by the American Heart Association.

Regular readers, friends and family know the walking fetish I have. 

There are a number of things I am teased for in the household, but nature walking has to take the cake. “You do realize that you can achieve a lot more if you just walked less and talked less too, right?” is a common refrain.

I have to agree, but I seem to think that without walking, there is just time at home in which a myriad different things show up as tasks to be done. I mean review this:

The kitchen needs scrubbing, the snacks need eating, the clothes need folding, the food needs cooking, the cook-grill needs cleaning, and the dust needs dusting.

Out in Nature Though

Whereas out on a walk, the geese don’t need prodding to squawk, the mallard ducks don’t need encouragement to fly and land with a splash in the waters, the suns rays don’t need reminding to spatter and scatter a myriad different colors into the perfectly placed clouds in the horizon as it sets, the lavender and eucalyptus don’t need reminding to waft their aromas into the atmosphere. It is all there for the taking.

 It is the sacred act of you and yourself out walking. Just the mind taking some time to rejuvenate with fresh air, slowly dissipating the tensions of the day into the evening air, letting nature do its work, and the body healing and strengthening itself.

Once my newsfeed told me about today being National Walking Day, the old soul yearned for the outdoors. So, after the day’s meetings were done, I swished outside. Everything was as perfect as ever. The perfectly positioned clouds, the sun’s rays just right – not too feeble nor too sharp, the flowers of spring all gloriously waving their blooms to the mild breeze, and the rain-washed Earth looking clean, welcoming and habitable.

I was walking by the waterside, and the calm strength of the waters nourished me. Ducks, geese and a pelican or two gracefully glided on the waters. I have often wondered about the sentience of our fellow beings. Do they stop to admire a sunset like some of us do? They are definitely more attuned to nature around us than we are. An unkindness of ravens (or was it a murder of crows?) were loudly cawing overhead. 

Shinrin Yoku or Forest Bathing

The Japanese have a practice built around spending time outdoors – specifically longer periods amidst trees and forests – it is called Shinrin Roku – or Forest Bathing. What a marvelous concept?

“Look deep into nature and you will understand everything better!” – Albert Einstein

Happy Walking Day to all of you. Please step outside and enjoy the beautiful Earth even if only for a few minutes today.

13 miles while 13 years old!

The Weight Charts

The last time I took the son for his annual health checkup, the doctor seemed to give me a look as if to say, “Have you tried giving him more high calorie foods?” The children have always been on the lower end of the weight charts – sometimes barely clinging on, other times falling off the charts altogether, especially when they have a growth spurt with their height. So, this is a familiar enough scene. I braced myself, and told the doctor about how he seems to be eating well enough, seems to enjoy his food, and eats more than me etc. He wasn’t impressed and asked the son to eat more and be back in two months time. 

This was about a year ago. Also coinciding with a time the old mother was here a-visiting. A grandmother being a g.m., and all that – she was plying her grandchildren with ‘good food’ and this wasn’t having the effect it needed to have. Nevertheless, a watered down version of the doctor’s regimen were relayed to her, and she fed him more ‘good food’ to get him on the weight scale. 

Diets & Grandmothers

Around the same time, the husband had decided to go on a strict diet – a no-carb diet, which in a household filled with South Indian grandparents and grandchildren who love their food, can be a carbolicious nightmare. The mother would periodically cast doubts on what sort of husband I was raising if I wasn’t cooking him what he wanted.”We raise children, not husbands!” was poorly received. 

Yours Truly was on a low-carb version, having realized the futility of cooking and nutrition in this household, and merely settling for the occasional serving of quinoa instead of white rice when possible. 

So there we are: I hope I’ve painted a nice cozy domestic scene for you. The mother, able to chastise me and wonder how my husband was eating, how my son was eating, how my parents were eating, how my nephews were eating. The daughter and I, the low maintenance ones, reveling in the glorious sort of peace that comes with being forgotten. 

13 miles while 13 years old!

Anyway, it was a few months later, that the son said he wanted to run a half-marathon when he was still 13 years old. “13 miles at 13 years – that’s cool, right?”

I nodded, taking in his reedy body. He could build stamina, weight would still be a problem, but it already was. So, we said yes and started training together. The son and I,  running our ways through the emerging springtime. It was a beautiful time to train. The cherry blossoms, the crisp rain-washed earth, the beautiful skies and green hills around us all proved to be a wonderful backdrop to our runs. It was tough going given the demands on our time, and a full school schedule in session. But we managed it.

Yesterday, we finished the Oakland Half Marathon together. 

Well, not together.  The son was, of course, far faster than Yours Truly, but as the daughter kindly put it, “Aww! Good job Amma. I am proud of you. You can’t help it if you’re old and gave birth to two children!”

His paternal grandmother is here now and is tutting about how little he eats. “Don’t you feed him?” she asked.

I said, “Clearly not as well as you can!” and ducked out of the kitchen looking pleased. I heard her fussing over him with a bowl of something. We had run a half marathon and, sore as we were, it was a wonderful feeling of accomplishment. 

“Paati – I can’t eat anymore. I am already full!” said the son, and I smiled to myself. 

All was well.

Musical March

March is one of the most beautiful months in the Bay Area. Poets have tried over the years to capture some of the rapture of the month. But even poets such as Emily Dickinson (Dear March—Come in), Or William Wordsworth ( Written in March) seem to do the month justice.

Maybe they lived in colder climes, and the month did not yet burst forth in glory the way it does in California. You see? This is the month of rainbows, clouds and sunsets, golden california poppies, fields of yellow flowers, green grass knolls, sunshine and rain, oranges, cherry blossoms…I could literally go on and on.

The time change happens in the first week of March, and suddenly, cold and bleak evenings seem to shed their winter cloaks and don resplendent spring robes billowing in the wildflower scented breeze. The squirrels are chippier, the birds chirpier, and the breezes gentler.

A run along the river/stream by our home is a joy to endure. There are many places in the trail where the heart bursts with joy. All around you are gentle green hills adorned with wildflowers, the rivers are flowing, the birds are nest-building, and all of nature seems to be in one harmonious, vibrant orchestra.

It is so fitting that the month hosts lesser known festivals for the two things that appeal to the nourish-n-cherish household: whimsical & geeky. St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle & Pi Day 

St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle

St. Patrick's Day In The Jungle
St. Patrick’s Day In The Jungle

The son & I listened to Irish music on the way to school this morning. The music had us humming along even though we were sleepy. I came home and opened one of the favorite books of mine, St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle. My friend, Krishna Srinivasan , worked on the musical track for the book St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle.  It has the same vibrant quality to it.

This is the sort of music that makes you peer out to see if a rainbow is there, and if the birds and animals are playing hide-n-seek too. Not to mention the sweet voice of the daughter, who has lost the childish intones in that beautiful book now.  So, please do give a listen to the books, and enjoy the music, narration, and pictures for this story – even if you are having a stern day full of important things to do.

Also, any recommendations for Irish music, March poetry, and the general splendidness of Spring is welcome.

A Lament for Short Stories

Give me short stories over real news or fake news any day

The clouds are wondering whether or not to drizzle. It is the perfect weather for musing and meandering thoughts.

I wonder how I meander to the thoughts on short stories – maybe a recent conversation. But I feel the short story is one of the most poignant losses of literary fiction. As children, magazines were filled with short stories and the thrill of finding a short piece contained in and of itself providing the nourishment of the soul was brilliant. What happened to short stories these days?

Give me short stories over real news or fake news any day. Please.

Stories in their natural length: stream, or rivulet, or tributary, or river

I’ve read stories stuffed into tweets – threatening to spill over, and bulging in all the wrong places.

And Then.

I’ve read stories watered down and stretched into novels. The original essence there, somewhere perhaps, but too watered down like homeopathic medicine.

What I’d like is a story – at its length. No fluff. No dilution. Just essence.

If a story is meant to dance and spurt joyously like a stream, let it. If it settles in, and flows like a river, let it. If it is a tributary and wants to join the main river, let it. If it is vast and encompasses depth adn breadth and expands into an ocean, let it.

Kindle Singles came up with the idea – I wonder what happened to it. They fizzled out.

There are anthologies – but they are few.

Reading the first half of The Overstory by Richard Powers made me yearn for short stories again. I think it is time to revisit Golf stories by P G Wodehouse or a little visit to Malgudi to reacquaint myself with all the characters. Tales from a Village School would be welcome too, wouldn’t it? Miss Clare Remembers is a wonderful book of short stories all woven around the fallen giant – the elegant, thin, straight-backed kind teacher, Dolly Clare.

Give me short stories when my attention is wandering. Enough to keep me stimulated, and wanting more.

Recommendations Please

Are we losing another art-form altogether? What would Somerset Maugham say, what would Alice Munro say? I remember the thrill of liking an author’s story, and then finding a whole book written by them. How marvelous it would be to crack open any magazine and find short stories there?

If you do read short stories, which magazines do you get your source from? Apart from The New Yorker I mean.

P.S: I have written a collection of short stories of my own too – both singles & themed collections. Written to its natural length, and savored from time to time by Yours Truly, but otherwise waiting – wondering where they can be published. So, if you have any recommendations of publications for short stories, please let me know.

How Reading Changes Our Understanding of the World

Reading, Absorbing, Retaining

We were discussing books and one of my friends said wistfully, “I like what I am reading, but I don’t know how much of it I will be able to retain afterwards.”

The rest of us nodded. It is a problem and one that I have yearned to be better at too. How marvelous it would be to quote with ease from our various influences! The internet truly is a savior for folks like me who have a vague idea. I don’t think stunning speeches are made by saying things like: “Remember that saying by Shakespeare where he said something about wise men knowing they are fools, and fools being very sure of their awesomeness? Or something like that?”

Aah….here it is:

“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool”.  – Shakespeare

So, it is with knowledge. The more one yearns to learn about the world around us, the universe, and the lives we lead within it, the more one realizes how little one actually knows. There is no surer path to humility than learning.

“Even if that is the case, I suppose we retain things that appeal to us subconsciously.” I said.

The conversation meandered after that  but I found myself thinking back to that statement. It was true enough.

The OverStory – Subtle Influences

I read The OverStory by Richard Powers a few years ago, and loved many aspects of the book – its lyrical language, the poetry of the trees, the rich interweaving of nature in its stories etc so much that I wanted to read it again with my book club. It is when I started it again that I realized the Hoel family tradition of photographing their old chestnut tree must have appealed to me. Why else would we have started taking photographs of this particularly gorgeous maple tree every fall? I did not even realize this till we started re-reading the book, and I visualized the hundreds of pictures taken generation after generation. The only surviving chestnut tree for hundreds of miles in every direction. 

There is a timeless charm to a tradition like that.

Reading is a critical part of Becoming

Reading is a critical part of Becoming. Things we read voluntarily, can influence how we think. The characters in stories that appeal to us? They appeal to us for a reason. The actions of flawed individuals? They appeal to us for a reason – maybe we learn to be more forgiving towards follies – our own and of others when we catch them.

There are many studies proving fiction readers were generally more empathetic.

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/novel-finding-reading-literary-fiction-improves-empathy/

Read Across America Week

It is Read Across America Week in schools honoring Dr Seuss’s birthday, and I found myself loving the rich world of stories once more. We each have a world of stories within us – stories that shaped our beliefs, joyously transported us to different realms, acted as escape mechanisms at times, stress busters at others, and just a marvelous source of shoshin otherwise.

Languages all over the world have a phrase or word for the vastness of knowledge, and I suppose I am grateful for it all.

Anantha gyana, gewaltiger umfang, enorm kunnskap, Abhijñā

Happy Read Across America Week – may we all read more about hopeful, brave, courageous, witty, humourous, compassionate, kind, vibrant personalities, and become like them.

🌲🌳🌴🎋Magic So Sublime 🌲🌳🌴🎋

“Do you see anything dramatically different today?” I quizzed the husband. He looked around him. We were standing outside the home before setting off on a walk. He looked blank, looked around, and then settled for his safe-bet. “Did you cut your hair? It looks good!”

I rolled my eyes. Honestly! 

“Nice try, but no!” Then, taking pity on him, I gave him a hint. “It is more to do with the immediate surroundings.”

He paused, looking up at the roof. Yesterday’s rains had us both rattled a bit. It isn’t often that we get up to the sounds of heavy rains lashing against our windows. It is a beautiful sensation, but a little fraught for us this time, since the last time, we found a pool of water had managed to seep in. This, after the roof repairman had stomped on the ceiling repairing things for sometime already. 

“Not the roof either! Look at the flora and fauna.” I said.

“Ahh – okay – that is easy.” Then went on to gabble on about flowers blooming, some plant surviving till I stopped his rambling, and said, “It is okay to give up, you know?”  

Then, with a dramatic flair, I pointed to the cherry blossom tree that only a day ago was fully white filled with blossoms. To be fair, I did not see it while it was raining. But one day later, it was there fully clothed in fresh green leaves – not traces of the tree in full bloom from just a day ago. 

How I wish the tree would tell us when it would do this? I would love to just set up a time-lapse video and sit watching it in slow rapture. When do you think the leaves actually sprout? Has anybody actually seen a leaf grow? This has to be some of the most sublime magic on the planet. 

🌸🌸🌸 Oubaitori in Spring Time 🌸🌸🌸

I felt a pang for the beautiful blooms of that tree – gone so quickly and completely, and then remembered that a month ago, it was bereft – a tree in abscission. Beautiful in its starkness, then resplendent in its white blossoms, and now lovely in its fresh greens. It is no wonder that cherry blossoms have captured the hearts and minds of philosophers for centuries – the simple lessons of enjoying the beauty of the moment, the oubaitori to bloom and sprout at your own pace.

Witnessing Nature: A Baby Egret’s Journey to Independence

 

No swimming No diving No fishing

The sign that greets the visitor to the riverside can be daunting. 

If one wonders why they never heard the whooshing sounds of the gushing river waters as they made their way up to the riverside, it is because there usually isn’t any. The mighty river retains its classification by becoming a river for about three days a year when there is heavy rainfall. Like a courtly princess who only dresses in regalia at Christmas.

The rest of the year, it trickles like a stream, while the major portion of the riverbed is lush with vegetation. It is the teeming home to plenty of wildlife – deer, blue herons, geese, coots, ducks, grebes, red tailed hawks, blackbirds, egrets, harriers, turkeys, turkey vultures, owls, wild cats, squirrels, rabbits, the occasional fox or coyote, possibly small snakes and fish in the simmering strip of waters. 

The trail by the riverside is, however, a charming place and one that always manages to lift your spirit. The stirrings of spring are in the air all around us, and we decided to go for a run / walk / bike / drive (No guesses for matching the family member with mode of transport ) to enjoy the river. Pale pink and white cherry blossoms on thick dark brown branches, clusters of chamomile in gardens, squirrels bustling up and down garden fences and hugging trees, geese squawking their way out in the world. It is a beautiful world and one that can ensure one forgets all the breaking news if only for the hour or so by the riverside.

An Egret’s Dash For Independence

A few minutes into the run, I watched fascinated as a baby egret chick stood by its mother in the marshy waters. Even in my first glimpse, my heart leaped, for the egret chick showed a fierce determination for independence. It edged away – throwing a look towards its mother, and the mother let her (or him) go. By this time, I had jogged on a bit, and the egret chick had clearly had enough of waddling away from its watchful parent and took to flying. The mother let it go, and then followed a few minutes later, setting herself down a little further upstream so she could keep an eye on the little one. It was a charming scene, and the egret and the watchful mother kept me entranced for several minutes. 

There is so much to learn from springtime with regards to parenting. Nest building is happening in earnest, and it is a common sight to watch a crow or a wren pick up some twigs to line their little nest. The geese will have their goslings soon, and those are the best to watch. The same loud, sometimes rude geese, somehow have the most obedient goslings. 

I was attracted once again by the egret chick and found myself looking for the mother. This one had certainly taken off a ways, and I watched a little nervously as a rambunctious dog broke into a run and came careening into the riverbed. I almost stopped and called for the egret mother and urged the chick to run. But I needn’t have worried. Long before I saw the dog, the chick had heard, and flippantly flew across the stream landing elegantly on the opposite side. The egret’s mother flew by too, and went back to fishing a little further away. 

I was impressed – she kept an eye on her chick, gave it the space to learn to navigate danger, and kept giving the little one the space and security to grow. 

All was well. Everyone was having their fun, their adventure and their springtime joys. I smiled and peered ahead to see the son way ahead of me.

Knights of Rain

“Don’t you feel like a Knight of Rain?” I said. The words must have sounded somewhat garbled for the rains were lashing, the winds were whipping, and the trees were swaying somewhat alarmingly.

The husband shouted out a response lost to the elements. It sounded like ‘WHAT?!”

“I moved so I could use the wind’s direction to my advantage. “I said, don’t you feel like a Knight of the Rain?”

He lifted his umbrella momentarily to give me a withering look. A mistake. For the winds elegantly made an upside down lotus of the black umbrella he was holding, and he danced to right it again. I saw a neat few buckets of water making use of the interlude to rain its droplets all over him. 

I smiled. “Using our umbrellas as shields, we make our brave foray into the wild world frenzied up by the elements.”

I heard some grunting and tutting, but nothing more.

This year, the rains have been particularly sparse. Yesterday was only the second day of proper rainfall, and I’d yearned for it. Obviously not wanting to miss the fun, I dragged the husband along for a short stroll – in my defense it was not as bad when we started out. There were no warriors required then – merely prancers. Every little raindrop whispering its presence out to the world craving for its sound.

I’ve always loved the piece by YiruMa with the sound of the rain in the background.It feels like the magic was music was just waiting for that sound to make the transition from beautiful to sublime.

If They Could Do It, So Could We

🌲🌳🌴🎋 I peeked out from the umbrella at the branches of the pine trees and willow trees swaying and dancing in the rain, I felt the joy building up inside me – if they could do it, so could we! 

🦅🐿️🐦‍⬛🦢I heard the sound of the winds and the rains against our flimsy shields of cloth, and marveled at the wood ducks enjoying themselves in the waters. When the rains stopped, they took just shook themselves off, with a little dance, didn’t they? If they could do it, so could we!

🐳🐟🪼I felt the trickle of chill water droplets that managed to shimmy past my umbrella’s shield and my jacket’s hood to slide down my neck, and gurgled a bit. I peered out. Were we lost – where were we? If the lost fish could find their way to the streams, and the streams to the rivers, and the rivers to the mighty ocean, so could we!

Who needs raincoats when there are rain quotes?

When finally the pair of us stepped into the home, one euphoric, and the other helpless. “Wasn’t that the most marvelous walk in a long time?”  collided with “Only an idiot would step out in this weather.”. It was like watching hydrogen peroxide mix with yeast and water. The laughter shaking out of our systems with the rain droplets. 

“I need a change of clothes before heading out now.” he grumbled but I caught a smile, as he shook his head and said, “A walk in the rain!”

Who needs raincoats when one is busy looking for rain quotes?

“Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.”

– Roger Miller

Embracing Nostalgia & Innovation in Switzerland

Is Nostalgia Good?

The trip over the winter break seemed to have a fair share of nostalgia. It reminded me of this scene in Inside Out – 2 where the teenage brain is filled with a whole new range of new emotions: ennui, embarrassment, guilt, anxiety, nostalgia etc. When Nostalgia comes in, they all tell the poor emotion that the girl is perhaps too young for nostalgia and I remember laughing. So what does that say about us now that we are nostalgic?!

Switzerland

Twenty three years after we’d last visited Switzerland, we went there again. I am not sure it felt like 23 years had elapsed between the last time we’d been there and now, but the magic was still there. The US has spoilt us in the intervening years with its spots of unimaginable scenic beauty, so that the awe that I had on my first visit had subsided somewhat. After all, 23 years ago, it was the first time I was reveling in a snow covered countryside.

For someone who had only seen pictures of it, or seen the Himalayan snow from afar, the joys of freshly fallen snow cannot be described. Add a happy newly-wed husband to the mix, and there can be no higher form of magic.

“The first snow is like the first love. Do you remember your first snow?”

  • Lara Biyuts

Even so, this time around, it was still unimaginably beautiful.

There were a great many things to love in Switzerland in the winter. For instance, the rains and snowfall that swept the entire nation in one grand stroke. We are used to localized rainfall, and maybe slightly larger areas being affected at once, but it was brilliant to see it raining all across Switzerland one evening. We knew because we drove from Geneva to Spiez via Bern and Lausanne through the pouring rains and it never let up. By the time we reached Bern, it had started to snow mildly making it a beautiful ride.

“The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found?”

― JB Priestley

The Magic of Snow

The feeling of getting up to a snow covered landscape, as overnight the skies worked their magic, is breath-taking.

When first you open the curtains and look out into the world outside blanketed in snow, there is a sense of the precious, the divine, and the surreal. How could a cold brown, green and gray world be transformed into one of such purity and innocence overnight? One must be lucky to witness the first heavy snowfall of the season. The transformation could lead to closed roads, snow chains and winter storms, yes, but it could also lead to an expansive imagination of our senses. Our senses, so often honed to look inwards, and be busy as we let moment after moment flit by us, suddenly seems to hold in its power the ability to remain still, quiet and the beauty to examine the infinite within and around us.

The simple pleasures of blowing smoke out your mouth, of watching the bare tree branches glitter and sparkle with the new snow, of seeing beautiful hillsides blanketed in fresh snow never gets old. That is always joyous I think.  And life, marvelous life, in these environments! It was astounding how we were standing atop the very top of the Jungfraujoch – nicknamed the Top of Europe, feeling like we can never feel warm again in the cold that was enveloping us, while ravens were enjoying the lift of the winds there to have a perfectly nice day. No thermals, jackets or socks for these birds – no sir! Just a swirl and twirl of the wind would do.

Really! Lessons of joy and resilience can be found anywhere, anytime if only we care to look.

Embracing Innovation: Automobiles in the past two decades

Automobiles have come such a long way in 23 years – ABS, automatic lane detection systems, navigational systems, Google Assistant for cars. They are game changers – we had rented an XC90, and it was truly amazing in its capabilities. 

No more fumbling with paper maps, wondering how long it would take to go from Place A to Place B etc. For those of us who hark back to the simpler times, this is one arena in which I would not. Technology companies have made navigational capabilities so fantastic, one wonders how we managed before the advent of these technologies – maybe that’s why we sat around singing sad songs lost in the countryside, or fumbling about and trying to draw rabbits out of stars to help guide us through.

Verdict:

This nostalgia is good.  The power of the infinite beauty held in each snowflake, that is able to transcend time is very good.