Silent. Soft swirls encircle the trees. Quietly the flakes drift like wafers on piles of whipped cream. Building without a sound until one by one they heap up softly curved drifts that reach windowpanes and block doorways.
The only sound heard is the whipping wind whistling round the corners of the house and through the gaping meadows. The roaring wind drives gentleness across the landscape. Trees bend white, skies are whisked gray, the visible becomes invisible.
We slide into the warmth of our car scooped out from frozen dollops of creamy white. The silent falls. Now heavier than earlier. Quiet tension fills the car as white swoops across the highway. Yellow stripes covered. Familiar land marks, exits all cloaked in a veil of white The quiet broken by the rhythmic smack of wipers feebly clearing our vision. Words are few. Concern for a passable exit.
Be still and know that He is God.
He is the God who releases snow from the storehouses of heaven ( Job 38:22).
“He spreads the snow like wool…” Psalm 147:16 NIV
We breathe easier. Warm vapors meet chilled windows. Misty clouds form.
I whisper a prayer of thanks~for all who did not venture out for His sacred presence at the funeral. He is here. In the quiet white. In the protection. In the cousins who carefully carry our lives in their car.
Will this winter white bring a peace? Will I see the sound of gentleness? Feel the play of wonderland? My first White almost Christmas buried in so many feelings.
It seems an eternity of slapping wiper sounds, whooshing fan blowing warmth into our car. Then the long awaited exit. The softer mounds, the bowing trees relax our taught muscles. Hope is ahead. Home is close.
Just down the blanketed road. Not far. A shovel. A snowblower. A half hour. The car creeps along this familiar street.
In moments, I’ll hear the silence of snow and watch the wind swirl dusts of white powder round the warm lights becokning welcome.
Tomorrow, I’ll hear the wind-sculpted snow layered beneath the bright sparkling sun.
“As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.” Isaiah 55:10-11 NIV
A glimpse at our adventure in the Winter Wonderland of Minnesota’s 4th worst blizzard.
Linking up with “Ears of a Photo” at High Calling Focus and Imperfect Prose on Thursday