When I think of Russia, I think of long winters. Winters long enough and cold enough to keep a person inside so he can finish writing War and Peace or some other thick volume. I have found myself thinking about Russian winters and comparing them to this particularly cold Wisconsin winter. Look at all the posts I wrote this winter! I’ve been feeling Tolstoy-ish. And now I’m ready to be Savrasov-ish. In his country, the return of the rooks were a sure sign of spring. His “mood landscape” shows the hope he has despite bitter winters and dark days. (And, according to my research, this particular painting was painted after Savrasov’s daughter died and he spent a period of time trying to escape his grief by wandering the outdoors.)
So let the rooks return to Russia, let the snow fort in my yard melt away, and let the noisy birds nest above all thirty-one of my windows. Spring will come at last.