This morning I awoke to the granite colored sky and asked myself if perhaps this day would actually be a “fall” day, crisp and cool, with impending threats of real weather. And then only hours later, maybe two, I glanced out the window and was astounded by the view, for we had surpassed autumnal and crashed right into a winter squall, blowing in every direction, pelting the earth with fuzzy white flakes in a swirling orchestration of a wintry blast. It subsided in less than an hour and left us with a threadbare blanket of white; light enough to show sprigs of grass, just solid enough to inform us that the splendor of winter is upon us. I have to say, and this will make some of you roll your eyes, that I look to the white stuff with a huge sense of relief. It is finally here and I am glad, and not because I especially relish the cold, but because it is November in Colorado and snow is what is supposed to happen. It is a flash of normal when our days have been filled with startling. When nothing is happening as we had expected it is nice to know that some things are a constant – the sun coming up, the chill of the wind, the snow bursting onto the scene, just ahead of winter, the need to wear boots and mufflers – it is all predictable and somehow settling. There is peace in the common, hope in the repetition of the every day, sense in the redundant, and I am thankful that for this moment I am part of something so very ordinary.
No comments:
Post a Comment