by Ariela Zucker
"Life is like a landscape. You live in the midst of it but can describe it only from the vantage point of distance." Charles Lindbergh
On the road to my daughter's home, this morning, I drive by the river. I look at its shimmering blue, now that it got freed from the winter ice hold. I never lived by a river, I never woke up to look at its slow up and down movement, how the changes of the seasons are reflected in the water's color and flow. I never lived next to the ocean in proximity that enabled me to listen to the waves break on the shore and watch the white foam unfurl on the sand, then backwash. But I did live in the desert and was captured by its palate of colors and desolate beauty, and for a short time, I lived at the foothills of the Rocky mountains and savored the infinite sea of green.
I easily connect to symbols and metaphors that originate in the world of natural scenes and concrete landscapes. A mountain, a stream, the ocean, the vast unending desert, they go right into me and stir up the words. The external landscapes evoke an intense resonance inside me. Often, they revive images long forgotten, and with that, they bring in their wake a sense of ambivalence that never leaves me and going back and force between two homelands just makes it stronger.
The air in one feels so soft around me, the sounds, the smells, and the colors familiar and with the people who knew me from the day I was born I share a common history, going back thousands of years. But most of all it is the language; that wraps around me caressing, accepting, signaling "here you are never foreign."
Then I think about the soft snow cascade of white, and the spring eruption of colors. The luscious green of the warm summer days and the blazing reds of fall.
Which of these landscapes is mine, which one reflects on my life? Where is my vantage point of distance? The one that will enable me to see my life with clarity and precision? Or perhaps I am the lucky one. For a few months each year I get to change my distance and with this change alter my vantage point of view. As a writer, I get to describe that point of view in words.
Ariela Zucker was born in Israel. She and her husband left sixteen years ago and now reside in Ellsworth Maine where they run a Mom and Pop motel. This post originally appeared on her blog at Paper Dragon.
sara etgen-baker says
Thanks, Ariel, for sharing such an evocative piece. I love your attention to detail. I grew up in North Texas; it was my vantage point and the place in which the world made sense. Then in 1992 my husband and I moved to the desert southwest, both of us taking teaching jobs in a small community in the desert just two miles from the Texas/Mexico border. Initially, I didn’t like the desert, always missing the lush green hills, trees, and flowers of North Texas. But I came to love the desert, it reminded me of a comfortable khaki robe, its simplicity embracing me. I’ve sense returned to North Texas but ofttimes miss the desert and the life we had there. I love North Texas too, for it’s part of my soul. As you so aptly said, the vantage point in each place is different and provides ample opportunity for creative expression.
Your piece is evocative and I love the sensory detail. I agree, vantage point makes a different in what we express and how we express it. I grew up in North Texas surrounded by hills covered with lush green trees. Then in 1992 my husband and I moved to El Paso and took teaching jobs in a small border along the Texas/Mexico border. I was surrounded by nothing but the vast open dessert that initially seemed devoid of life. I soon learned to embrace the cacti, sand, and lack of clutter. The desert reminded me of a simple, khaki-colored robe that embraced for over 14 years. I returned to North Texas and know can appreciate both vantage points. Those vantage points offer me so many opportunities to express myself. Just sharing 🙂
Thank you sara,
Glad that you liked what I wrote.