I am reminded of how many good things can grow in the deep winter of our lives. How seeds planted can sprout magically overnight (though there’s no such thing as overnight although there is such a thing as magic). How even the moon sometimes hides. How graceful the trees look with no leaves; dancer’s hands reaching outward in space towards one another. The twinkle lights are being taken down and Christmas trees tossed aside. We buckle down and pray for a snowstorm. The silent icy wind blowing sparkles under street lamps, creating a wonderland of everyday. The sky soothing us in it’s hush of falling alabaster confetti. A celebration to mark time. Heaven showering us like a bride leaving the chapel doors. A bird, a deer, a little fox leaving footprints in the yard. A chilly memory to call upon in the heat of July. My hands frozen so solid the water from the kitchen sink burned them as they turned pink. I cried because it hurt and my father, still smelling like a snow shovel, covered them with his own to warm them. I look back on that now and think: love.
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