The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued
A dust of snow is about all we've had this winter in the DC area, a baker's dozen of days with enough snow to make it look like the grass has been covered with powdered sugar. This morning's snow/sleet mix has left the landscape glazed like a pound cake. But even that drizzle of snow was enough to lift my spirits.
I'm in the minority that loves snow. I strain to catch a glimpse of the first flakes of the winter once the autumn wind turns cold and damp. That first discernible snow always seems to me like the universe is throwing a party, tossing about handfuls of white confetti and inviting me to join in the celebration.
Last week in the Celtic spirituality class at the Cathedral that I was co-teaching with the wise and wonderful Sue Mosher, we wrapped the series with a session on celebrating the seasons. During the group discussion time, the idea of harbingers came up-- those signs that let us know that the season is about to turn.
I'm good at noticing the harbingers. I keep an eye out for the crocuses and daffodils stretching their stalks up through the earth after their winter slumber. I scan the summer twilight for the first flash of lightning bugs and gaze at the October trees waiting for them to spark and catch fire. And of course, there's the snow.
What I'm not so good at, is appreciating a season when I'm in the thick of it. And that's when I need reminders of what is rather than harbingers of what's to come. I need a dusting of snow to help me recapture those feelings of delight, joy, gratitude that I feel when I spy the first snowflakes. I need to be reminded that today and every day there's something to celebrate.
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued
A dust of snow is about all we've had this winter in the DC area, a baker's dozen of days with enough snow to make it look like the grass has been covered with powdered sugar. This morning's snow/sleet mix has left the landscape glazed like a pound cake. But even that drizzle of snow was enough to lift my spirits.
I'm in the minority that loves snow. I strain to catch a glimpse of the first flakes of the winter once the autumn wind turns cold and damp. That first discernible snow always seems to me like the universe is throwing a party, tossing about handfuls of white confetti and inviting me to join in the celebration.
Last week in the Celtic spirituality class at the Cathedral that I was co-teaching with the wise and wonderful Sue Mosher, we wrapped the series with a session on celebrating the seasons. During the group discussion time, the idea of harbingers came up-- those signs that let us know that the season is about to turn. I'm good at noticing the harbingers. I keep an eye out for the crocuses and daffodils stretching their stalks up through the earth after their winter slumber. I scan the summer twilight for the first flash of lightning bugs and gaze at the October trees waiting for them to spark and catch fire. And of course, there's the snow.
What I'm not so good at, is appreciating a season when I'm in the thick of it. And that's when I need reminders of what is rather than harbingers of what's to come. I need a dusting of snow to help me recapture those feelings of delight, joy, gratitude that I feel when I spy the first snowflakes. I need to be reminded that today and every day there's something to celebrate.
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