Skip to main content

suspended in the silver thaw

red twigs emerge with beauty through the drifts of snow

Ode to the winter wonderland that I find myself in, where all is white with shades of gray, except for the kids dressed in snow pants and bright hats and scarves. To venture out into the frigid temps, a daring feat of layer upon layer so moving is in the form of molasses. Still, the beauty is stark, serene and surreal.



Gone are the days of sunshine and bare feet
Tree branches are bare and dark across the snow laden landscape, motionless in the biting air
Brittle twigs from last year’s flowers edge through the ice, a poignant reminder of what was

Gone are lazy afternoons laying in the grass as puffy clouds drift overhead
The frozen lake now dons the footprints of would-be skaters leaving a path of figure-eights
And children laugh as they slide down the hill on sleds and red flying saucers

Gone are the summertime adventures in shorts with bodies slathered in sunscreen
Put away by a winter wonderland of crystalline white
Dotted with mittens and caps in splashes of color against a pale lit backdrop

During the dormant season, the gone has been replaced by what is
Where all is encapsulated in snow and ice diamonds that glisten
Suspended in the silver thaw, an alabaster world of beauty, awaiting spring



Personally, I’m enjoying the fire and a cup of coffee, but did shovel and walk Isabella in knee deep drifts.

Missy


If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

it's holy week

It's Holy Week, and I don't feel very "holy." 

Things are coming apart and are broken. There's a friend whose husband has been dealing with serious health issues for a few years. A family who lost a dear loved one and marriage struggles for other friends. My job is coming to an end. And, heck just don't even bother to watch the news.

It's Holy Week, and why don't I feel "holy?" 

Because I'm consumed by what I see and what's happening all around me. Lives are shattered into mosaic pieces. And, I desperately need the One who controls life and breath and everything else to put the pieces together.

When I think of the word holy, visions of a perfect, devout person comes to mind; someone like Mother Theresa or St. Augustine. They probably didn't feel holy either. Stuff happened around them as well. I don't have a corner on the market for crap going on.

You want to know what holiness is really about? 

Look at Jesus. He was a normal guy …

excellent. how serious are you?

Have you been told you always say something? I have. Evidently, I respond with "excellent" and then ask two questions:

How serious are you? And, what's the vision?
Each could be asked independently of each other or in reverse order, stacked on each other. Answering one leads to the asking and answering of the other. I know, it sounds like a labyrinth conversation.

How serious are you? About a decision, about a change, about a direction or choice? If the answer is some laissez faire something, then nothing will occur. Serious action will not take place, and probably nothing will come of the thought. You see, the degree of seriousness creates movement. Movement, in turn creates a response.

I picture it like the proverbial mousetrap game - the dropped marble starts a chain of events.
What's the vision is directly tied to the serious question. The vision will determine the degree to which we seriously take things. A wishy-washy, obscured view doesn't require much. Howe…

the quiet paradox

I'm a music girl, but I like the quiet. So, I live with this paradox. I see other enigmas in my life - some are trivial, others deserve attention.

Look at society. Our current culture is rife in a quagmire of nonsensical. We say we care and want to love, yet do nothing. Or, worse, we simply yammer on about how "somebody" really should be taking care of this or that. I'm guilty here. No stones are being cast.

Ergo, I turned off the music to sit in the quiet. What can be heard in the quiet is unreal; the birds waking up, the guy down the street is warming his truck, the slight ringing in my ears,  my thoughts. I can hear my thoughts instead of drowning them out with sound. Sound that I normally groove on.

When I hear my thoughts, I'm more aware of the paradox. Even as I sit, the furnace clicks off and the sound of the refrigerator is noticeable; a see-saw invasion to my soul searching and hearing.

My interlude with quiet is ending. The sun is pouring through the w…