Got our first snowfall yesterday here in Wheaton. Stacey and I act like 5-year-olds each winter, eagerly anticipating the first snowfall and gleefully rejoicing in it when it arrives. Just love it. Goodness. What a strange joy, but very real.Have you ever--ever--stopped and considered snow? I mean really considered it? Beyond the hassle it is for driving? What it does to your soul? Or have you (as I have in so many ways) 'sinned and grown old,' as Chesterton says, numbed by a lifetime of sit-coms, unable to wonder?
I was lying on the sofa yesterday too sleepy to keep reading a book and opening my eyes I saw out our front window, against the sky, a mass of hundreds of interweaving branches from three or four giant locust trees, each branch carrying a perfect little mound of snow along its winding tentacles. The complexity of it all seemed infinite. I could not take it all in. It was too much. My little mind cannot digest it. It is inexhaustible wonder.
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Here in the south, snow is rare, but yesterday my husband and I took a walk together in the woods, hand in hand. I composed this poem as we walked, reflecting on wonder, grace, and humor:
We walked in the woods today, my husband and I
Cross the nut-strewn field, 'neath the shagbark tree
And on to the flowing stream
I exclaimed in wonder, once again
at the beauty of it all,
"Oh! How many do you think,
have pondered this same stream,
before us?"
'None,' said he, 'for this stream was never the same, before.'
"That is deep," I replied...
and he kissed me, none-the-less,
'neath the giant beech tree.
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