Wednesday, February 1, 2012

I rather enjoy the changes in the weather.  I don't mind the snow falling gently upon the valley floor, whispering in the night as I lay sound asleep.  And in the morning when I lift my head from my pillow, when I lift the lids of my eyes, I am always a bit surprised, to see all that had taken place as I slumbered.  As the valley lies comforted by a blanket of snow.  It has settled beneath and begins it's own sort of slumber.

I rather enjoy the changes in the weather, as the sun is still shining, still, it sets.  Though, for a moment, it plays tag with the clouds.  Or perhaps a game of hide and seek, whichever, you choose.  And the stout-hearted birds still fly.  You can catch them, at times, all puffed up beneath the branches of the pines, hidden beneath the umbrella of the evergreen needles, kept warm in the arms of comfort and temporary shelter.  And still they are clothed and cared for, having need of nothing.

I cannot say that I mind, whether the cold wind is shouting, or the frost gathers as ornaments of splendor.  Whether or not the heavenly receptacles pour rain or snow, or sleet, or whether they are commanded to halt.  I cannot say that I mind, not really, not at all~

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