Alright I am in the mood to write another word painting. I am just not sure yet what it should be about, hmmm. . .
The world is covered in powder, so thick like the soft goose down of a pillow. Piled high on the fences, the cars, even the snowmen outside have high snowy hats. One step into the powder and you deceptively feel like you are stepping into a bunch of bubbles, but try to pull your foot out again and you will find that you are trapped in the thick powdery, crunchy snow. All is covered, did the grass ever grow? Did people ever walk freely, even run on the slippery white sidewalks? Did children ever run through the sprinklers to cool down? Unimaginable. Those mountains off in the distance look even more forboding and clear cut in the winter sky. Did you ever think that the sky could be so red, that the glow of the streetlights could be so milky with snowflakes? Imagine those snowflakes, could it really be true that no two are the same? There are piles and piles of snowflakes each losing it's individuality as it melts together into the wind swept valley. Could you look into the snow clinging to the branches of the evergreen pine and see the crystal world of the snow fairies? What are they like? Are they imperious and snoby, loath to have you invade their world. Or are they welcoming and playful? Happy to give you a snowflake masterpiece to bring home with you. Could you draw so well, be so creative to never repeat what you had drawn before, what you had created? How wonderful that God can create so much individuality. Are you happy? Feel like a kid again, go out into the world leaping with joy over your bounty. Relish the chance to create, to fall backwards into the snow and feel the give of the snow and the unbalanced suprise of doing something that you don't normally do. Bundle up warm or feel the bite of your cold skin, your nose, your toes, your fingers and cheeks. All will be numb and red, don't warm them up too fast or you will feel the needles of pain from your haste. Work hard, shovel the snow, don't bemoan the lack of warmth in the air. Warmth to run, to wander down the trail and hear the river trickle down on it's way. Those times will come again, be happy for your surroundings, mountainous piles of snow. :0)