Silence cloaks the horizon beneath an ashen sky. Nature waits, solemn and expectant as the air gingerly, gently draws the feathery white downward. The wind whispers and licks the earth, dancing with the newborn powdery snowflakes. Windows become frames to a life-size snow globe and I am enraptured, breathless. Entwined in the falling snow is peace that spreads slowly over the ground and into my chest. This fresh peace, like drinking hot tea on a cold day, is a glimmer of a future, greater Peace. A wintery, holy promise.
In joining with a storm there is sacredness. In breaking the silence with an open door and movement and noise. In disrupting the resting place of millions upon millions of snowflakes woven together so delicately. The snow groans and compresses under my weight and I am an island in a sea of alabaster. Nature adorns my crown with glitter and my lashes cradle the falling flakes. My breath is full and smoky white and suddenly too loud.
In this moment, the boundaries blur between the storm and I and we become one. I am a funnel, gulping with my eyes and stuffing my lungs full and storing it all in my heart. I am communing with my Creator by celebrating his creation. There is beauty in winter and I writing myself into its story.