Sanctuary in the Snow

It had snowed all night.  By morning at least six-inches had accumulated.  By afternoon another two had fallen without end in sight.  In contrast to the bitter cold of prior days, however, this one had moderated with the snow -- upper 20's instead of near zero.  The invitational snowglobe effect, coupled with the nudging of the day's cabin fever moved us into our snowshoes and outside toward the trails.  

We were not the first to pass this way.  Hoof prints evidenced where the deer make of these clearings a kind of wildlife highway; deer, and who knows what else?  There is plenty of activity in this minor prairie -- on the trails and among the grasses, but also overhead.  Eagles have been soaring in recent days and perching in the nearby trees; a majestic brush of wings that paradoxically grounds and lifts me at the sight.  

Progress is slow with snowshoes, especially in the depths amassed from last night's snow added to the previous foot of earlier days' prior accumulation.  But the pace rewards with the opportunity for a different kind of attention...to the lacy snow gathering on the cedar branches; the particular frosting along the naked branches and the elbows of bare trees; the prairie grasses pressed flat where deer have slept overnight; the blue line shadow on the buried beehive platforms; the sound of our own labored breath and the tingle of gentle snow on our faces.  

And there, pausing in the chilly afternoon air and the breathless animation of falling snow, a precious and poignant silence engulfs like a blanket.  After the morning's growl of the tractor engine and its snowblower whirring, the snow shovel's scraping and chickens squawking until I could dig out a wide enough space for them to stretch their legs, the expansive quiet of these anodyne moments held us; centered and evoked us.  It was, in a way, the church service the storm had prevented us from attending earlier in the day.  

Prayer, less uttered than experienced.  

 

Holiness, enveloping.  

Grace, embracing.  

Blessed silence, within and without.  

If we stood still much longer, however, the chill would begin to speak of a different kind of spirit.  Pronouncing a grateful benediction, we lifted our feet and continued on around the trail toward home, giving thanks for the manifold gifts of this excursion -- 

the physical movement, 

the austere beauty, 

the ephemeral whisper of creation's very breath.