The slight chance of flurries yesterday left over a quarter-inch of fresh snow at our place, a frosting on top of the glazed gravel that seemed a bit treacherous walking from the garage to the house. It is not nearly as cold this morning as it was three days ago but it is still considerably lower than shirtsleeve weather. The snow shows mostly on the places that are paved or barren. Winter’s stems and dried blades of grass and scattered leaves mark the other places.
If things go as predicted today, by evening the only white will be the remnants of drifts from the storm nearly a month ago. A day of sun and fifty degrees has a way with the thin layers. Even though I do not look forward to the mess and muck of transition, I am certainly ready to welcome spring, even though the weekend’s weather sounds more like more of winter.
So many are weary of this long, bitter winter that I hesitate to mention the beauty of drifts and the frozen motion of the wind in the feathery ripples that formed on the surface, the mystery of rings around the bases of trees and the curling lips forming off the edges of the roof. Those who ache from the bruising cold find little beauty in the snow and utility bills that take too much of a month’s pay have a way of shaping perceptions of nature.
But I think it good to take caution in letting circumstance take too strong a hold on our view of things. Bitterness in the heart only prolongs the ache of winter and resentment makes the fading even slower.
As I look out the window just now, the deep red circle of the sun suddenly shows through the frozen fog, glowing through the branches above frost-crusted earth. I will choose to believe in good for this day and trust Him who has made it to make it so.