Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. ~ Frederick Buechner
Winter. The wind is ugly. It snakes across the open water from the west & there is ice in the touch. The cats hunt patches of sunshine & thin warmth & at night they snuggle into the doonas beside me, each of us burrowing into our own warmth. The house is cold because it is a summer house & it does not like the winter either.
And then one morning as your feet hit the icy floorboards, as you pull on a thick jacket & scrunch a beanie firmly down over your ears, fumbling for light switches & heaters, for hot coffee & something warm & sweet to sweeten the bitter morning, the lightening day reveals a pristine bay so glorious a song wells up from deep within & you know, though there is nothing yet to show for it, that there has been a subtle shift in the seasons.
The day warms slowly like a homemade broth & the dappling shadows are aflitter with drifting leaves, falls of gum blossom, small song birds. The in between times dangle like jewels & the air rises like incense in a hymn of praise.
When God walked with Adam & Eve in the garden in the cool of the day it must have been on such a day as this.