Awakened this morning by such a refreshing cooling in the air, even with a furnace grinding out its nonstop heat. A quiet feeling, soothing, something saying that the weather reports must be true. A midnight glance at bedtime, there was no sign yet of the enveloping blanket that would come, drifting from the heavens.

Upon arising, a curtain is pulled back, and there, frozen on the window, nature's crocheted doilies are plastered, hugging the glass and clinging to the sash. At times when looking out the same window a green lawn, budding trees waving in a soft morning breeze. Clover and grass, birds feeding and the ever present mockers singing their songs to sunrise.

But today, just a glimmer of a garden appears, something white and glowing from behind the frosted glass. To obtain a better view of what silent footsteps nature did trod over night, a strut to the front door, the lock somewhat temperamental as it is turned, the cold freezing the cogs or cylinders that would keep this picture frozen from the peering eye.

The lock is turned, and there before me, a blanket of snow, eider down, as it comforts the earth's ground. So white, so pure, hiding any imperfections that might would otherwise show. Pines are weighing heavily under the burden of their added weight. Long limbs, drenched with snow are bowing to the sun as it gives off diamond and emerald colors, as it strikes the long leaf pine.

A maple, so bare, then budding, green maturity and crimson fall, is now bare once more. Only this time it is coated with the confection of nature. The sap having fell and sleeping. But today it's bark wears the armor of winter.

One lowly little bird has found the bird feeder, resting on its ledge, nourishing itself for its normal forage is now hidden. But alas, some are singing still, welcoming this day as they do come heather what may.

So quiet, so tranquil, the yard is looking today. Motorist and early risers are edging their way down the thoroughfare with caution as they drive to their destinations. Headlights casting canary glows as they strike the snowy horizon before them. Wipers are flinging the snow as a thrasher would, only to be packed on the asphalt floor.

Coffee is bringing realization as a cup is poured. The hot sip warms the body as the clean white wonderland does the soul and spirit. Oh what an awakening, no two are really the same. As for sure, the clouds of snow did make certain this morning.

Mark Edward Rogers

January 20, 2000

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