It comes quietly in the dark of night to blanket the world in clean peace. Underneath its gentle touch, the trees pull life into their centers, and they rest. They had labored since the time of the green bud producing shade and good fruit. Some had remained selfishly sterile. Still others worked to grow thorns, or immature fruit given to worms. The seasons passed for both the strong and the diseased. The long nights and cold of The Fall came. It stripped the life from their branches and eventually, they all gave in to its death.
Now the dead leaves of the Fall are covered and forgotten under its whiteness. The snow covers them all in its thick, graceful embrace. It gives them time. Time to heal. Time to collect life and strength within. It clothes them in white that trails to the tips of their branches, and all the trees are again beautiful. Under its influence, the dead limbs break away. Its water dissolves the abandoned leaves and returns them as nourishment for the roots. The trees will use their life of the past to be stronger in the coming spring. Already, beneath the covering of white, their core is resurrecting to new life, ready to burst with joyful fruit. They are redeemed, renewed. The warmth returns and the light of The Son reveals the transformation.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
I'm pretending that I posted this a few days ago when I found symbolism in being buried in snow on the first official day of winter, which also means the longest night of the year. I wrote the following poem earlier this month, and the solstice snowstorm reminded me that this is a good time to share these thoughts. I snapped the pictures from my yard in the gray of the morning on December 21 while it was snowing.