How to predict snow

On grief that arrives before you can name it

One of my primary school teachers knew this trick: He could forecast the weather in summer by looking at the clouds around the Matterhorn. Did they appear to be stuck, dragging or close to the peak?

We also learned how to predict snowfall in winter based solely on the mood of the class. Apparently, this is related to air pressure. There were clear signs: kids going out of control was a big one.

Sometimes when I tell people that I am from Zermatt, they ask if I really mean Zermatt, or rather a suburb. Not sure a town of 6000 people does have any suburbs?

But yes, here I am. I escaped the brutal heat in the city. Up here it’s bearable, certainly the nights are. Judging by the green grass, it seems that there has been some rainfall over the past few weeks, which is lacking in the rest of the country.

This week, I reached a point where I felt grief for this planet, or perhaps for the environment. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it was. There was a moment when I suddenly realised that there was no hope, only the knowledge that this will end in disaster.

It arrived the way snow used to, before anyone had looked outside.

I had sat down at a park in Zurich and looked at the dried grass, the trees that are starting to have brown leaves and the lake that carries so much less water than usually.

There was nothing to do about that. So what was left was the feeling.

Grief, overwhelm, sadness, maybe still hope somewhere. And I just had to let it happen. To experience that emotion in the very moment, without rejecting it.

I didn’t want to feel any of it because I told myself that I deserved to be happy and carefree, without having to worry about what was going on. I was anxious that I might be consumed by grief or sadness. But I wasn’t. I observed it. Years ago, this would have left me feeling depressed for days.

And that’s the point. I can still get to experience this carefree moment. If I don’t fall into the trap of taking my thoughts as the literal self.

I told myself I came here to escape the heat.

I still see the same kind of flowers that I used to see growing up, I still see many of the houses that were already here when I went to kindergarten.

There are more tourists, there is a new school, it is warmer than it used to be.

The Matterhorn, Zermatt, photo by me.