Today I woke to a brightness outside my window, created by the snow that had fallen, and was still falling, during the night. I flicked on the porch light and suddenly the flakes falling were illuminated, slow, steady clots falling to the ground–not wind-driven, not lazily wafting, not swirled or puffed about, but determined, focused falling. This, I think, is the most beautiful kind of snowfall, in which the clumps seem to have a will and volition unaffected, unimpeded, not determined by outside forces. Each flakes seems purposeful, sure of its destination, single minded. This is how I would like to live my life, but I so rarely do.
Sitting a few moments later with my legs tucked under me, angled to watch this muffling beauty create itself outside the window, I am drawn by its peacefulness. Silence fills the room, leeched in through the panes of glass. Everything is cloaked in a unifying purity, a white that transfigures the landscape. Moses, Elijah, and Christ are dim presences gliding the surface of the snow. I can just make them out in the light of the sun that is just beginning to dawn.