Early in the winter, as I started running on snow-covered paths, I noticed the sound of crunching snow and wanted to capture it in words. I’ve been spending a lot of time paying attention to these sounds–recording them, researching them and experimenting with different ways to describe them.
recordings of crunching snow at the end of my run:
Crack
Running on snow
I hear a crack–
not sharp and singular
like a wooden bat
on a hot summer’s day—
but a constant crunch
creaking brittle dry crystals shattering
crying out with every step
Crunching Snow
an acrostic
A constant crunch
Underfoot
Two versions—one fast
One slow one
Never stopping steadily crushing ice crystals the
Other
Making quick forceful snaps
One soft one loud both
Unrelenting in their
Soundtrack
Sinking deep into my
Ears these
Noises do
Something that
Opens me up makes my brain
Rattle vibrate buzz makes me
Yield to the sensation
Makes me
Earnest with my attention trying to conjure up the
Right words to capture the
Is of this musical moment cars
Drive by as
I
Attempt to classify the
Noise—somewhat like static but not white noise
—is it
yellow noise? a happy yellow buzz
Radiating a constant crackling
Energy that
Sizzles on the
Path?
Outside this moment, it might be just
Noise, but right now, inside of it, the
Sound of crunching snow is
Everything.
Surrender
sometimes snow is silent
and sometimes it is not
if you listen closely
you can hear ice crystals falling
singing as they surrender to the ground
and when you walk on them
they creak
snapping cracking crunching
Snow Sounds
Sure snow crunches but
it also sizzles and
cracks and
scratches and
scuffs and
squeaks on the sidewalk.
It amplifies and muffles
absorbs and reflects
slumbers in silence and
remains awake alert active.
Conversation
a pantoum
In the winter above the Mississippi River Gorge
I take up the ongoing conversation
I’m having with the running path.
(Mostly I listen.)
I absorb with ears and feet
voices and textures.
Crystals cracking, the feel of soft snow
settling uneven around my ankles.
These sounds and surfaces
energize, exhaust
speaking steadily into my ear—
becoming a soundtrack for my run.
Cracking crystals make me buzz, soft snow saps my strength.
Cracking, crunching, snapping, sinking, slipping—
the soundtrack for my run in the winter
above the Mississippi River Gorge
A Short Story of Fallen Snow
after Alice Oswald
It is the story of the fallen snow
to turn sharp and slick and force us to slow
it is the wonder of a winter storm
to start out as snowflakes but soon change form
from tiny puffed up pillows that cover the path
to crystals compressed, their size reduced by half
or to a smooth shining surface polished like glass
hidden in plain sight near the edge by the grass
if only you while heading to the river could make
the moment go numb and freeze like a snowflake
to absorb every sound in a blanket of air
releasing when pressed a kind of noisy prayer
then you might learn like snow how to balance
the light of attention against the weight of silence
snow which when cold is so brittle so strong
cracking and crunching a sharp steady song
compacted by cold, yielding to feet
compelling a pause to listen to it creak
which is the story of the fallen snow
whose changing forms makes us slow.