The snow birds are back this morning–enjoying a frolic in that white stuff that magically appeared overnight. A trio of them perch in naked forsythia bush; feathery baubles fluffed out against the cold.
I sit with morning coffee and watch ornitho-antics. Gravity does not deter their play…they flit to and fro with sudden graceful movements as if dangled from invisible wire–an infant’s mobile orchestrated by invisible puppeteer.
I am that infant.
I watch, bedazzled as this scene plays out against winter-white.
I am thinking about seasons. This surprise-snow reminds me of my Father. How He likes to astonish, fill me with wonder. The seasons He orchestrates for me are not predictable. They do not come with a mark on the calendar. They are sprinkled down from heaven in the dark of night like this dusting before my eyes this morning.
The local weathermen changed the forecast three times yesterday. When we went to bed there was no sign of snow–just a whisper in the wind.
When I opened my eyes to morning light I heard the snow in the silence. The world unspeaking, muted by insulating mantle of purity.
It is the way of God–to silence the corrupt by the chaste.
And so, I am quieted.
There is no shame in this silence, only a gentle hand cupping my face. I am still as the coverlet falls over me. There is only relief. No striving, no pushing, no struggle against injustice.
Just blessed peace.
I’m resting today, Beloveds. Happy Saturday to you all.