The leaves are mostly gone from the deciduous trees around our house, many of them stuffed in the gutter. (Have to do something about that.) It’s still sometimes warm enough to hike with only a sweatshirt, but that’s one of the false, temporary good things about climate change.
But the temperature can’t fool me–it’s almost winter.
This morning, my husband put on a CD by Ulaan Kohl, one of the incarnations of Steven R. Smith. (Smith is also responsible for Hala Strana.) Perfect choice. For me, fallintowinter is the season of Dead Can Dance and Hala Strana. I love the introspection and moroseness in this music; it’s so clashingly rich. Along with warm sweaters, extra cocoa, and stout beer, music like this weaves the tapestry I can hang on through winter.
In my house, there’s an imagined scenario. It goes a little something like this: At a family reunion, or holiday party, Lisa Gerrard‘s aged auntie says to her, “Lisa, can’t you write something a little more upbeat? You know, for the kids?” Lisa just looks at her.
These people will also be invited to teach in the department of Interdisciplinary Aesthetics. But only in winter.
