As those of you who've been reading here for awhile know, I adore snow. And winter. I love the solitude. Crackling fires and wind-pinked cheeks. I heed the call to go within to slumber.
However.
As much as I've declared my love of snow, I am very ready this year.
For Spring.
And yesterday it arrived (ummmm.....)
And, as ready as I am for the imminent arrival of our next season, I cannot ignore my primal, guttural call to enjoy the profound beauty in a heavy, surprise snow.
The intricate intertwining of those branches, circuitous and varied, carry their share of the snow's girth. Their complexities send waves of comfort to me, standing below, in awe of their stature, their strength. Their stoic branches presenting a three-dimensional, suspended map. A garbled tangle of possibilities and questions.
Showing me, with their own labyrinthine of black, wet branches, crossing and twisting in unison, how each life shares beauty. And confusion.
And peace.
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