Yesterday’s snow is piled up everywhere, heavily troweled icing overlaying every surface, slumping up the trunks of the trees, outlining every railing, branch, even the wire baskets and twigs. The rough places on the tree trunks have caught and held some of the wet, sticky flakes, and the dark green pine needle clusters are bending low, swaying heavily in the slight wind. A half-moon sails high and serene in a sky turning bluer by the moment.
Tufts of snow fall from the trees, “re-snowing” in clumps from wind-tossed branches, and fine sprays that outline the shape of the wind. I can see through the woods, through and through deeper, white patches as far as my gaze will go.
I recognize the feeling welling up inside: that peacefulness that is the receipt of grace. I know it will turn to the urge to share, to do, for my happiness to become the engine of love for others, else I can’t bear to be this blessed. I know I can’t “try” to stay with it; like a skittish animal, too much attention causes the sensation to melt away.
So, I just feel it come, as Psalm 30:5 describes: “… rejoicing comes in the morning.”
As the snow turns from pale blue to white, little flits of brown show the wrens have awakened, too, looking for breakfast. I hope they find the seed I have scattered in a few scraped-clean spots.
May we all find the blessings awaiting us this morning, in the places prepared for us. May those who travel icy roads be safe. May all the weary travelers come home. May rejoicing come in the morning, for all of us.