I woke up this morning in a different house. The roads had gotten icy, so I'd stayed over at a friend's, and as I groggily pulled myself from the squishiness of the futon, I rolled over and peered out the crack of window visible between the curtain and the wall. A tiny layer of snow had formed! I was full of wonder, as I watched the tiny flakes flit here and there, and land on the railing of the balcony, and form a downy covering on the big evergreens.
And the ocean. It is marvelous to watch the white powder drifting down on the water, landing, and disappearing into nothing. It is as though the ocean has no comprehension of snow, no understanding of ice, it simply goes on existing as it always does, up a degree, down a degree, always salty.
As I drove away from that house, snuggly warm in my big, old hoodie, I looked in awe at the perfect white upon the trees, just barely there, but enough to change the landscape. It was just so different, yet the roads were simply wet. Singing, I traveled the roads, thanking my Maker for this divine gift of goodness and beauty that He so gladly had given to me.
I silently longed for my camera, but what would it be to you except a tree with some snow? No, the delight is in the experience, still, and fresh, and wonderful.