Winter Song / Girl from the North Country (5:27)
album cover
from: Matadors
Winter Song
Most people think of winter as merely a frozen period.
The poets draw metaphors of death – the withering away of life, moving on from the autumn years into your inevitable demise.
But I say, “Damn the poets!”
e.e. cummings, wrote, "the snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches"
I always liked that about winter.
Snow makes your weed-infested junkyard look just as nice as your Presbyterian neighbor's manicured fescue.
Winter is something you can feel in your bones. It makes us aware of our skeletal structure as it strips the trees of summer, allowing us to behold the bones of the earth. We see her landscapes without her gaudy gardenias and great green summer trees, her trendy autumn scarves, or her whorey spring negligees of tulips and bumblebees.
We see the earth naked – as we see our lover the next morning. Make-up kissed away. The low slant of winter's morning light reveals the angles of her jaw line. Down comforters and a sluggish sunrise let us stay in bed a little longer as we look within.
Some creatures hibernate. For them, winter is gone in a flash – but it is the cold of winter that gives them the strength to make it through the rest of the coldhearted year.
"April is the cruelest month."
It is winter that taught the ant generosity and the grasshopper responsibility. OK, OK – in the original, the ant ate the grasshopper over the long cold winter – but I bet the grasshopper learned his lesson.
George Santayana said, "To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring."
Perhaps there is a reason that so many people could not start a conversation with a stranger, if it were not for the weather.
So, I say, “God bless the winter.” For it is both an end and a beginning. It is something that brings us to praise the hard yellow warmth of chimneys, gather in tighter circles to hear the tales of the harsher seasons – until the snow melts, when we can venture out into the severity of spring armed with fresh vim to conquer the oncoming year.
Most people think of winter as merely a frozen period.
The poets draw metaphors of death – the withering away of life, moving on from the autumn years into your inevitable demise.
But I say, “Damn the poets!”
e.e. cummings, wrote, "the snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches"
I always liked that about winter.
Snow makes your weed-infested junkyard look just as nice as your Presbyterian neighbor's manicured fescue.
Winter is something you can feel in your bones. It makes us aware of our skeletal structure as it strips the trees of summer, allowing us to behold the bones of the earth. We see her landscapes without her gaudy gardenias and great green summer trees, her trendy autumn scarves, or her whorey spring negligees of tulips and bumblebees.
We see the earth naked – as we see our lover the next morning. Make-up kissed away. The low slant of winter's morning light reveals the angles of her jaw line. Down comforters and a sluggish sunrise let us stay in bed a little longer as we look within.
Some creatures hibernate. For them, winter is gone in a flash – but it is the cold of winter that gives them the strength to make it through the rest of the coldhearted year.
"April is the cruelest month."
It is winter that taught the ant generosity and the grasshopper responsibility. OK, OK – in the original, the ant ate the grasshopper over the long cold winter – but I bet the grasshopper learned his lesson.
George Santayana said, "To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring."
Perhaps there is a reason that so many people could not start a conversation with a stranger, if it were not for the weather.
So, I say, “God bless the winter.” For it is both an end and a beginning. It is something that brings us to praise the hard yellow warmth of chimneys, gather in tighter circles to hear the tales of the harsher seasons – until the snow melts, when we can venture out into the severity of spring armed with fresh vim to conquer the oncoming year.
Credits:
Winter Song/ Girl from The North Country
Chris Chandler/ Bob Dylan
“winter doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches.” - ee cummings
Paul Benoit: Guitar, Bass and Vocals
Dan Weber: Drums
Hugh Sutton: Wurlitzer Piano,
Chris Chandler: Spoken Word
Recorded and Mixed by: Blake Harkins at Lost and Found Studios, Seattle, WA
Chris Chandler/ Bob Dylan
“winter doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches.” - ee cummings
Paul Benoit: Guitar, Bass and Vocals
Dan Weber: Drums
Hugh Sutton: Wurlitzer Piano,
Chris Chandler: Spoken Word
Recorded and Mixed by: Blake Harkins at Lost and Found Studios, Seattle, WA
Winter Song/ Girl from The North Country
Chris Chandler/ Bob Dylan
Published by: 9th Wave Publishing/ Dwarf Music
Licensed through Harry Fox
Chris Chandler/ Bob Dylan
Published by: 9th Wave Publishing/ Dwarf Music
Licensed through Harry Fox