Winter is being more stubborn than typical this New England March. We thought we were nearing the end of the area’s coldest winter in 137 years. So I wasn’t overly eager about an early morning salutation from the fair, white-haired maiden of winter. Even though she did greet me with the pink, snow-foggy nod of a sunrise behind her.
Weeks ago, “balmy” temps (in the 30s) made us all long for spring. (Two daughters, the ones who are prone to occasional insanity, sported shorts with their snow shoes to play softball in the deep whiteness, so certain of spring’s imminent arrival.) Yesterday’s dramatic warmth (in the low 40s) unveiled more than a few bare legs, and even patches of greenness like we haven’t witnessed since Christmas.
The day melted into evening precipitation: a rain meager and warm enough to coax the kids and their friends outside in short sleeves.
So I was mentally ready for a May-like March, not the January-like Sunday that I was greeted with this morning.
But the beauty was so breathtaking. Pure. Peaceful. My complaining spirit was quickly squelched by the silent sound of snowdrops.
The snow quickly, quietly erased the dirtiness of pine needles and sand that had been accumulating for weeks. Plows had been piling up sand by the roads, making travel safe, but not as stunning. Groomed, but not as gorgeous. Strong winds of previous nights had encouraged pine needles to shuffle and waltz across the beautiful white carpet that lined our property.
When the snow is 2.5 feet deep, even adventurous kids and dogs don’t mess up the serenity; everyone keeps to the deep network of trenches dad creates around the property with the snow blower; so the wonderland of white had been beautiful to behold for an extended amount of time. And now this morning’s surprise misty mosaic made all beautiful again.
This morning’s wintery whiteness restored purity. Beauty. Peace.
So while we do eagerly await a frozenless ground so we can install fencing and make barn repairs, helping one daughter prepare to offer a new home to tired horses this summer, we will find joy in the waiting. Beauty in the cold. Purity and peace in the quiet.
The Lord’s…compassions never fail.They are new every morning. Lamentations 3:22-23