The sun sprinkles a handful of fairy dust upon clinging icicles. Each one hangs on for dear life hoping that tomorrow the thermometer allows them to dwindle a bit, but in reality that each day only adds to their girth. That solar disk will return to full strength and eliminate them altogether. Until that day we accept our circumstances knowing that every season will present itself at just the right time

Icy winds push glistening remnants of yesterday’s snow across roads and fields. Long spires of stalactites cling to the eaves. The mercury in the thermometer longs to move to the opposite end. Time passes slowly as the skeletal branches of trees have given up the memory of the tender touch of rain and the warm sun only to replace it with thoughts of shriveling up and dying. Thus it is in the winter of life and yet for those who have not yet given up the battle against the elements, the war wages on. Soon it will be replaced with green pastures, fields of gold and perfect temperatures. What shall we complain about then?

Sparkling facets of frost are scraped from our windshields so we can get a clear view of the road, but do we take time to really inspect the beauty of that frost? The tiny patterns etched into ice by the finger of God Himself are just one example of His majestic power. Each snowflake has its own pattern and becomes a kaleidoscope of intricacy. We hurry through life without often noticing the many gifts given to us through nature. The sun casts a wintry glow upon frozen lakes, the sound of crunching snow crackles beneath our feet. The chill in the air enlivens every nerve in our bodies. All the senses are aroused.

Trying to find the beauty in an endless winter is like looking at your reflection in a mirror and hoping to recapture your youth.. It seems that new life will never surface again. Everything is cold and dead. The green existence of spring seems eternally wrapped in a blanket of white. Somehow we hang on to the hope of a new day when the sun moves closer and embraces those withered limbs and forces life to bud forth again. Spring – will we ever see you again.