The silence of snow is spellbinding. Serene. Restful. Life-giving.
Snow falls today without urgency. Heavy, quiet, unforced. Only gravity guides it gently home. Small wonders falling from the sky, arriving softly. Small feathers descending from somewhere unseen. Today it does not sting or rush. It gathers quietly on the ground,
I step outside, wrapped in layers of cotton and wool and anticipation, and enter this snow globe. The alfalfa field beyond the yard sleeps beneath white cover. I cross the field until I reach the forest trail which stands open like tall cathedral doors welcoming me to wander its sanctuary, ancient and holy,
Light rests on bare branches. Snow clings and releases. Hope stirs within me the quiet of this place
My body warms as I move, my heart quickens as I cut a trail through deep snow drifts. On the other side of the forest, I come to a clearing. My exhausted body yields, falling backwards into the snow, sinking into the pillowy white. Staring up as the wonder of a million snowflakes drift down, I realize I am buried in tiny masterpieces skillfully chiseled out of the chill in the air.
Unexpected warmth gathers around me as snow falls over my belly, my cheeks, my legs. As my breathing slows, wondering replaces my wandering.
The silence of the snow is spellbinding. Serene and restful. Life-giving.
I am grounded.
The dust of myself is sunk deep into the dust of snow. I become acutely aware of my connectedness to the earth, this season of myself present in the seasons of this planet, the seasons of this world. My breath rises and falls and curls above my face in a puff of steam. And the whole world seems to rise and fall like this. Moving in and out of seasons, in and out of chaos.
I remember my belonging to it all. To this earth. To this season. To this breath.
I and the world inhale. We exhale.
Exhaustion. Exhilaration. Swirling, then still. Here, then gone. A silent interplay of light and shadows.
I am drowsy laying here, yet I am very much alive. I am very much awake.
