Snow and flowers

On Monday morning I visited a lonely elderly farmer in the Jura. As I drove up to his house he stood on a heap of snow that had come down from the roof and shoveled some of it off, so it would not block the view from the kitchen window. Upon my arrival he stepped down and showed me the other side of the old farm house - at least one meter of snow still. Then yesterday as I walked out of the Geneva train station I was surprised by a range of shining daffodils in full bloom, strong and tall. Now this morning as I walked out of the house - it is below the Jura farm but higher up than Geneva - I found crocus and perce-neige, literally: snow-drills by the house - they had appeared over night just as soon as the snow was gone.

The contrast between the Jura mountains and Geneva is striking this year. My friends up there must wait weeks before they can plant, while down below the planting season is off to a quick start. Nature is curious, strange, surprising, eccentric, persistent, strong. It can't be fooled, but it fools us regularly. It has done so many times this past winter, which up here is not quite over yet. I love snow - the more the better and it doesn't bother me that it brings high-tech civilization to a halt once in a while. There is something very reassuring and comforting in natures "caprices" in times where so much is intended, assumed or pretended to be under control. Essentially things made by humans are not so much under control as they are hectic, pretentious and incapable of producing real and profound comfort.