False Hope
It happens each winter; it can even
happen several times in a blessed season.
For a day, or maybe even two consecutively, winter will loosen
its tight grip on life. Today is one of
those days.
As is often the case, such an abrupt
change in the temperature means that some kind of weather front is moving
through. That sometimes means rain
showers instead of snow, but it most certainly means there won’t be gentle
breezes; instead, the wind will be stiff and steady. Today’s wind ensured that my gloves stayed on
even though the air temperature was well above freezing. These days never feel quite as nice as the
weather forecasters happy chatter seem to promise. They are reluctant to take the blame for the
storms and hard days of winter, but they are only too happy to take the credit
for a day of thaw.
Yesterday a doe and her fawn passed
through the back yard. Even with good
weight and sharp hooves they did not break the concrete-hard crust of the now
icy snow. But today, a gray squirrel,
probably not even a pound, leaves deep tracks as he visits the birdfeeder.
The cardinals started to sing this
year’s territories last week. They were
singing in yesterday’s single digit morning, but their song seems better suited
to today’s warmth.
My morning walk takes me past a
large field where last fall’s stubble is now poking out of the snow cover. I pause to look out across the open
space. It looks bleak and barren. Suddenly, several hundred snow buntings rise
up. They make an arcing half circle of
flight across the field, tightly bunched.
Almost synchronized, the flock undulates just a few feet off the ground
like a feathered metaphor for the Spirit of God that hovered above the primal
waters of creation. The flock alights almost simultaneously, and rests, seemingly swallowed by the far horizon.
What looks like open water on the pond is really a puddle of snowmelt on top of the ice. The sun also almost melts through the grayness of the sky. I can almost see some azure and for a moment I feel just a bit of warmth upon my cheek, and I have to squint as I gaze upward. But the gray quickly thickens again and the azure is gone as if it never existed.
The weather forecaster says that it’s
supposed to refreeze before sunset and then Winter will squeeze life hard again
tomorrow. Some will feel cheated that
spring merely teased only to vanish. But
nature is always honest. There is no
such thing as false hope.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Comments
Post a Comment