Our world has been covered with a blanket of snow, Dear Ones!

As I walked to and fro, past the hospital corridor windows today, I was struck by how beautiful the air is when it is filled with ice crystals falling down. Diamonds blowing around in the wind. It reminded me of the many big snows we had when I was a girl. It seems like it doesn’t snow that way anymore, my friends. Today, the fluffy white stuff took me back; to how lovely the forest around my childhood home looked when it was dressed up for the winter.

The boys were awarded an extra day of winter break in honor of the wintry adornment. When I phoned home to check on them, I learned that they simply had to go sledding immediately after breakfast. I think hot chocolate was involved as well. Ah, to be a kid again.

When I returned home, their footprints in the snow seemed so poignant to me. They told of so many childhood adventures and days gone by. I was feeling a bit nostalgic, I guess, as I looked out the bay window on the snow swirling around. It looked just like a snowglobe to me, so clean and perfect; covering up the naked trees and the decaying flora and all the starkness of this season of darkness. It seemed too beautiful to me. To touch it, to step into this snowglobe world would be to sully it.

But there in the middle of it were my boys’ footprints. They were rapidly being covered up, but I could tell these were no dainty treads. Children are not intimidated by beauty. Rather, they are drawn to it.

If the snowglobe is a metaphor for life, then I want my footprints all over it, Dear Ones! I am claiming the abundant life promised. I’ve spent too much of my life looking on, it’s time to roll around in it! I might make a big fat snowangel while I’m at it.

But I want to enjoy the peaceful impression of the new fallen snow just a wee bit longer. Join me at the window and watch a bit. Better yet…take my hand. Let’s take a little walk:


The sounds of the world are muted
absorbed by the soft blanket of white

And I am an intruder
clumsy oaf, to tread upon the quietude

Heavy branches bend low to kiss the earth

A snowbird flits in and out of the garden
looking for a stray seed
in the time of plenty

The smell of wetness in the air
tickles my nose
as I creep

My silent footfalls heavy

My breath a vapor

The pallid world

and winks at me

I cannot speak

The silence is holy

I do not belong in this pristine world.

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