No doubt I, like other writers pull out our pens and keyboards and seek a nostalgic moment of clarity in the presence of atmospheric climate pattern changes. Yesterday morning I watched powdered sugar coated snowflakes whisper to leafless branches of oaks and maples while stroking the long slender needles of pines, and landing silently on any surface that welcomed its presence.
Is there a brilliance of creativity dancing in the nucleus of observation, a brilliance that forces us to stop, listen and look to where the depths of spiritual discovery lies in the genius of weather-related silence? And how do our moods change and our heart rate intensify when the ferociousness of wind, rain and snow strike violently like a bold slap on the face when such gentleness turn to brutal storms?
For now, I marvel at this scene of falling flakes as I’ve witnessed many times before as if this is the first time. I never tire of moments like this when I stare at showers of flakes disappearing in a flush of gentle kisses on top of the lake. I would be remiss not to say thank you God for the opportunity to show my gratitude in a moment like this, “weather” I write or not.