It snows and snows here in Guys Mills, and to say I am enthralled is an understatement. When snow is falling, I find it difficult to do my work efficiently because I end up staring out the window half the time. I’ve always loved snow, and now after living in a land of perpetual summer for four years, I find myself super-sensitized to its stunning beauty.
Moonlight on a million diamonds.
A walk in the stillness of snowy forest—stillness punctuated by the song of a chickadee.
Scarlet on snow.
Snow on scarlet.
The flash of a cardinal’s feathers against snow-clad branches.
Snow on the still-vibrant sumac clusters.
Snow caked inside an abandoned bird’s nest.
Snow on the ghosts of goldenrod from last fall.
On Saturday my mentoring group met to share our life stories. As we talked, a fresh layer of snow was falling. Falling on the wreck of an abandoned house next door. Falling on the barren patches of earth. It covered grime and ugliness with its sparkling purity, just like God’s redemption in our stories. Snow on scarlet.
Music in the Silence 