A Little Light
It is a glittery, glimmery morning. The sun shines on yesterday's pure white snow,
making tiny mirrors of the crystal flakes. All of the lawn furnishings wear matching top hats, and powder puffs of snow fall from tree branches and dance to the hillside on the breeze.
I look in vain for signs of wildlife. But only one set of rabbit tracks crosses the patio. And a circle of the cat's paw prints as she made a feeble attempt to brave this winter morning! For a beast who lived the first year or more of her life out of doors, she has certainly adjusted to domestic comforts! Now she is curled up on a bench, gazing quietly out the window. There are no signs of wanting to play in the snow!
What a difference a bit of sun makes! Yesterday was drab--the sky an uninterrupted steely gray. Ugly stalks of summer wildflowers browned, bare black trees. The only green were the throw rugs of moss on the hillside rocks. All of those things were the same the day before--except that there was sun and blue sky. The sun caught the rising steam from the chimney, making It shimmer. And, I confess, did the same with the cobwebs on the windows that I had not noticed!
Yesterday would have been a good day to stay inside. At least until the snow came. But it was Sunday and worship to attend to. The folk are hearty here, up afraid of the steep hills and uneven walkways. And it was cozy inside the church with its Advent candles and bright blue paraments and vestments. Seasonal candles in each of the windows, too,glowing against the stained glass. We sang those Advent 2 songs--about John the Baptist and the wilderness. "Prepare Ye the way of The Lord." And we read Isaiah with its vibrant images of the peaceable kingdom and the rough and crooked places being made straight and plain. Hope. Hope and promise there in whatever wilderness we may find ourselves. Hope and grace sufficient for the day. Look for the sunlight. And, if it's hidden behind the clouds, candles will do. May I not forget.
I look in vain for signs of wildlife. But only one set of rabbit tracks crosses the patio. And a circle of the cat's paw prints as she made a feeble attempt to brave this winter morning! For a beast who lived the first year or more of her life out of doors, she has certainly adjusted to domestic comforts! Now she is curled up on a bench, gazing quietly out the window. There are no signs of wanting to play in the snow!
What a difference a bit of sun makes! Yesterday was drab--the sky an uninterrupted steely gray. Ugly stalks of summer wildflowers browned, bare black trees. The only green were the throw rugs of moss on the hillside rocks. All of those things were the same the day before--except that there was sun and blue sky. The sun caught the rising steam from the chimney, making It shimmer. And, I confess, did the same with the cobwebs on the windows that I had not noticed!
Yesterday would have been a good day to stay inside. At least until the snow came. But it was Sunday and worship to attend to. The folk are hearty here, up afraid of the steep hills and uneven walkways. And it was cozy inside the church with its Advent candles and bright blue paraments and vestments. Seasonal candles in each of the windows, too,glowing against the stained glass. We sang those Advent 2 songs--about John the Baptist and the wilderness. "Prepare Ye the way of The Lord." And we read Isaiah with its vibrant images of the peaceable kingdom and the rough and crooked places being made straight and plain. Hope. Hope and promise there in whatever wilderness we may find ourselves. Hope and grace sufficient for the day. Look for the sunlight. And, if it's hidden behind the clouds, candles will do. May I not forget.
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