Fresh Canvas
I will confess right now, right at the beginning of this essay, that I like snow. To be more even more specific, I especially like falling snow. I like to watch
it. For me, it is like a crackling wood
fire in its ability to lure me into contemplation.
When I was young, the desk in my upstairs bedroom where I did
all of my schoolwork was positioned by the window. I could see down to the corner street light. If it was snowing in the evening, whenever I
needed a relaxing break from the books, I would look out the window and watch
the snow slanting past the streetlight.
Nowadays we live at the edge of the country, and I really have nice views
in any direction. I still like to watch
the snow fall.
The only thing better than watching a snowfall, is to
be out in a snowfall. I am especially
partial to those calm days when the huge snowflakes sift down silently – the
kind where if you stand still for more than a minute or two you have to brush
the snow off your jacket and hat. But
there is something that tests your sinew to be out in one of those hard-driven
snows that sting your cheeks. Whether
snow globe-like, or stormy, either experience adds to the comfort of
“coming-in” to dry socks and heavy sweaters.
The two best things about snowfall are the freshness
and the creativity. There are few sights
as bleak to me as the browns of a November landscape to my heart. The ripeness of autumn is long past; even the
heady scents and smells of new-fallen October leaves have faded and the
brittle, brown and curled leaves are without fragrance. A December snowfall is like a fresh
canvas. Best are those all-night
snowfalls that the dawn discovers deep and trackless. Be assured that nothing that passes this way
in the coming weeks will go unnoticed – each story will be written for those
who wish to read.
Each snowflake seems eager to catch a sunray from the
dawn and is set to sparkle. Snowdrifts
at the field’s edge are like a painting of the ocean shore – each “wave” frozen
in place, seemingly frozen in time.
Spruce trees, boughs laden, appear as an angel assembly, singing to the
beauty in the white, pure newness of redemption – a glimpse of the new heavens
and the new earth to come.
Two days ago we received our first substantial snow of the season. It started snowing mid-morning and as darkness fell, the snow too, was still falling. Around 10:00 I commented to Michelle and I hadn't checked the mail - it was as good as an 'adult' excuse as I could come up with to step out into the snow. It was a dry snow, so even my steps didn't break the silence - all my seen world at that moment was completely hushed. It is a relief to the spirit these days to experience sacred silence. I turned all the way around slowly just to take in the full view, and said a prayer of thanks. The snow is settling level and smooth; there isn't a track to be seen, yet. But I will come back out in the morning to read the stories of the fresh tracks from later tonight after the snow ends. I headed back inside.
It's supposed to warm up again in a few days, so I don't think this snow will last; we'll have to wait for another. But, my cross country and downhill skis are waxed and ready. The sleds are pulled down from the garage rafters and stacked up for the grandchildren. My hope is for a snowy winter. Whether you join in my hope, or consider me foolish – I understand.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Alek Newton on Unsplash
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