Winter time is its own, it doesn’t comply and is dark to some. But not to me.
I find them mystically beautiful. The black and white landscapes, frozen creeks and leafless woodlands exude a God that even a non-believer understands.
Morning grey skies and eye level fogs camouflage the scarce black bird. This is the hour before the sun peeks through, while coffee pots percolate.
Morning smells and a seasonal chill is the path to inner brightness. Yet tired and black, still before the body warms.
A black and white landscape can appear sad and dark to some; I presume. But not to me. I find it warm, welcoming and full of morning life.
The life that has been transformed from the night before. Old radiators and wood burning stoves. Snowy nights transcend into the wakeful new morning. A calm rest is everywhere in the warmth. Winds against cold glass.
From brass city dirt and dust and smog and black ice, to bright angelic white. Such a manifested, physical grace it is. Wherever you are. Look for yourself!
An ole hillside church on white appalachian speaks to me. Souls have come and gone, they’ve sung their peace in psalm. Poor and rich believers. Rich, enlightened integrated Spirits. One Spirit.
An ole window candle can glow at any time. Light outshines in darkness, every time. As flame perfumes safe warm smells of the imagination. The winter breeds the natural safe keep for all.
On with the morning. Into it. Seeing through deep deep woodland branches. Feet in thick mud. That was a real dream.
Some would criticize, perhaps. Not I onto myself, though. I speak of what is real. On a natural, cold welcoming trail. Then derailed.
My belly is thunderously jolted back to that time. Often, I am taken aback whenever is pleasant.
Sitting beside, as the bright candle continues to lighten a spirit. It enriches difficult, yet complex and graced souls. This is everything. Pain but Gratitude.
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