let it snow

 
I don't really miss the colors.  That glorious white stretches vast across the fields as it meets the sky to finds its ending.  Seems odd that it should stop at the place where it began.  All that is in between shines glitter and one must squint to see the intricacy of art settled down in blankets.



I sit by the fire as the magic floats outside my window.  I am content with a steaming mug cradled in my hands.  I know it is hurrying down to cover the dead grass.  It has had enough of the ugly ground and must rescue what needs to be rescued.

I can ache for a bit of saving too.

This feeling is familiar.  I am safe and warm and cared for while the white takes over the world.  The child I once was smiles at the flakes blowing wild then slow on the wind.  That symphony outside plays beauty to a soul, and the wonder of it all can steal your breath.  The silence is filling, and the scene serene.  I am peacefully renewed.




I remember how I regretted the footfalls of others tracking prints through the canvas.  That dead brown grass would poke right through, and leave the beauty interrupted.  The grace of a fresh falling removed the sin of it, and left things pure and clean again.  

Let it snow.

"'Come now, let us settle the matter,' says the Lord. 'Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be as wool.'" (Isaiah 1:18)

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