Overlooking the wintry white fields, their avenues of frozen yellow stalks and the ivory covered river, there is a winding track upon the face of the river as though a snowmobiler rode upon the ice and snow.  But the track is too elliptical, too perfect. It is too incomplete and thus impossible to reflect a passage other than what was probably no more than the superficial effect of an undercurrent of water following the submerged perimeter of the weeds and earthen shoreline below. It is a design of an artist’s hand upon the snowy canvass, a wisp of shadow within the white, a sudden apostrophe with an abrupt and inconsequential ending.

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Across the river the water’s still
The winter soul has flown;
The skies are crystal, the air is thin,
A calm descends below.

A cry is heard within the clouds
The winter soul ascends.
On earth below, a child is born,
The frozen ‘scape amends.

Jack Thomas stirs with Nature’s gifts
The winter soul subscribes;
The chilling cold and hoary frost
Have stirred what love provides!

Captain William Hilton

Born in 1605, he became one of the first settlers to explore the area around today’s Hilton Head Island in South Carolina. Hilton was born on June 22, 1617, in Northwich, Cheshire, England. His father came to the New England colonies in 1621, with infant, William Jr. and his mother following two years later.

His explorations of the coast earned him a reputation as an intrepid seafarer who often sailed into uncharted waters. He also made regular trips to Jamaica, which allowed him to bring back exotic goods and stories from his travels. His expeditions took him all over the east coast of America and to the Caribbean.

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Today is I believe the coldest day of record so far this year. Finding something interesting to read or to listen to is not always a productive undertaking under this or any other circumstance. Just recently I cancelled our free introductory subscription to Sirius XM radio. For years we have been accustomed to listening to Sirius XM radio in the car, mostly for music and sometimes for news.  I qualify the news feature in particular because it was always the same, predictable, “feed the audience” news one learns to expect from CNN, MSNBC, FOX NEWS, BBC and NPR. Seldom did we listen to CBC in the car because we predominantly get our local national news in our residence; but when we were listening to news in the car we were usually travelling in the United States of America.

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It was by my standards early this morning that I clambered out of bed. Shortly after eight o’clock I believe.  Yes, 8:00 am precisely. I recall last evening having set the alarm. The reason?  Our housekeeper was coming today and, more pointedly, I had a yearning for bacon and eggs.  So in order to remove ourselves from the apartment and to satisfy my hankering, we agreed to go to Antrim Truck Stop in Arnprior for breakfast.  Mistakenly I imagined the place wouldn’t be busy in the middle of January in the middle of the week.  Fortunately however we arrived there early enough, just early enough, to beat the line-up at the entrance to the restaurant where (inside) a glistening tractor trailer is conspicuously stationed in deference to the trucking community which notably frequents the place (there are even private showers adjoining the rest rooms). Nonetheless the restaurant clientele this morning was mostly old fogeys such as ourselves, people with nothing better to do on a brilliantly sunny wintry morning.

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It requires but a moment of idyll reflection to initiate an equally peaceful recollection of a former friend or acquaintance with whom one has momentarily lost touch. And from that blissful allusion instantly arises the question, “I wonder how she’s doing?” or some curiosity of a similar nature. Staying in touch with family, friends and acquaintances is an important part of the human cycle.  By the same token, failing to keep in touch is as damaging as the alternative is improving. On both sides of the fence, separation or absence is something to be defeated only by staying in touch.

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Listening today to a collection of Jazz Standards it was apparent that the weather and the seasons are not an uncommon source of wistful reverie. The examples include: Blue Skies, Summer Wind, Come Rain or Come Shine, Stormy Weather, Misty, Autumn Leaves and Foggy Day. What however spurred my curiosity in particular was the seeming acceptance of climate as an inevitable consequence of one’s life; that is, there was no obvious insert surrounding removal from the musical capital.

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It requires very little interruption for me to feel extraordinarily removed from the centre of the pendulum that is life.  Just lately for example I was swung far afield by an automotive disturbance, one which for me was especially compelling because, aside from touching upon my “things”, it evoked an element of repentance. I wrongfully imagined “I should have known better”.  And then, in what I am shamefully learning is my inimitable way under pressure of even the most moderate degree, I extrapolated to unknown situations by assuming that existing trends of defeat and destruction will continue. Such I suppose is the unenviable condition of an anxious person.

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When my parents, sister and I lived in Washington DC around 1957 our maid Dinah gave me a snow globe for Christmas one year. It was at a time when I enthused about tropical fish.  I had at least two aquariums (one large, one small) in which I cultivated a community of fish in the large tank and bred fish (mostly Guppies) in the small tank. The snow globe which Dina gave me had what appeared to be floating gold fish each moored by a thread to the bottom; and naturally when I shook the globe it caused a storm of snow-like particles to erupt about the entirety.

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“Marvel at nothing” – that is perhaps the one and only thing that can make a man happy and keep him so.

When I graduated from prep school at St. Andrew’s College in 1967 I was obliged to undertake a choice of studies which I would pursue in completion of my undergraduate Bachelor of Arts degree at Glendon Hall. For reasons which have never been entirely apparent (other than it was a decision which reflected what at the time was my earnest inquiry) I chose Philosophy as my so-called “major”.  It was, I can tell you, a resolve which met with a succinct rebuttal from my father who, upon hearing of my fixity of purpose, said only, “Well, it’s your bed; you make it, you sleep in it!”  Without engaging in futile analysis about whether or not he were correct (he had wanted me to study Economics instead), I will however observe that quite by accident I subsequently discovered when attending law school that a knowledge of deductive reasoning (characterized by or based on the inference of particular instances from a general law) was certainly not foreign to the appreciation of the constitution and legal codes, nor for that matter contract or tort law.

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