THE WEIGHT OF WINTER - PATINA MEADOW IN THE SNOW

I awake to the sound of a gentle giant falling to the earth. It now lies where its shadow was once cast.

Limbs that once held the perching feet of singing bluebirds and the soft stems of green leaves now crack under the weight of ice. The substance that once drew life from its seed now takes on another form and brings about its end.

A tree falls, I’m around to hear it, and the sound is thunderous.

My feet hit the ground. My arms find their way into the sleeves of my jacket, my hands into knitted mittens, and my feet into boots made for finer days than these.

I crack the door open, and cold air hits me, flushing my uncovered cheeks. My shoulders inch up, and my hands dive deep into my pockets, searching for the warmth that eludes the world today.

I do not heed the call of comfort and walk through the threshold into harsh winter weather. The sole of my boot finds the ground, now tiled with white snow and sealed with a crystalline layer of frost. I lean forward and begin the call and response: my step the refrain, the brittle breaks the reply.

Above me, icicles hang from the heights, bedazzling every surface that can hold their weight. The ice does not discern the difference between man-made and God-grown; it bears down on all forms just the same.

I cross through the once-clear paths of the garden, leaving the broken ground of footprints in my wake.

The world around me, once alive with a vibrant palette of hues, is now reduced to a simpler spectrum: either shining white with an abundance of light or dark and gray in the absence of it.

I arrive at the barn and find that most of the animals have made a wiser choice than I, seeking refuge beneath the rafters of their enclosure. But a couple of sheep and goats emerge to search for grass that may have escaped the coverage of the winter snow.

I don’t imagine they will find much to munch, but I commend their bravery and exploratory spirits with a few pets before heading to the forest to see how it’s faring.

I turn my gaze to the sky to guide my way, sticking to the path where I see no branches or trees hanging above me.

It doesn’t take long until I begin to see what was responsible for the bellowing booms that woke me. Against the bright white blanket now rest the tops of trees I never thought I would touch.

I don’t dare go much further, knowing that more destruction could come as wind gusts crackle through the limbs that still stand.

As I make my way back to shelter, my spirit wrestles with the reality of today. The brutal force that has brought forth this brokenness has also given rise to breathtaking beauty.

The weighty ice, glistening in the rising sun, is a gorgeous sight, and yet it brings wreckage, which will give way to rot.

We live in a place where wonder and wounds walk hand in hand, and we find ourselves wedged between them. Sometimes wonder carries us, and we stroll on, forgetting the weight on the other side. Other times, wounds pull us along, and we feel dragged by an uncaring companion.

No matter which is leading the way today, remember: you are still moving forward, and you are never journeying alone. We walk beside one another, bearing burdens and beauty together. Lean on those who are on the path with you, and stroll steadily with the faith of better days.

Love,

Leila