Here they came.
Light drops of white upon my windshield.
Flying towards me in tiny, chilly streaks.
The snowflakes arrived.
It’s mid-October and there were twinkling, dusty frozen ice droplets in the sky.
And for some reason, some unbelievably sensitive, internally reflective reason, I recalled the arrival of many snowflakes in my life.
The snowflakes that signal the arrival of the winter season, when snow caps the tops of trees and creates breathtaking visuals.
Those moments when your window is coated with the hexagons of icy nature, when the sky is blue and the horizons are white.
And you think about the journey ahead. The moments where a walk in the forest, a stroll through the snowbanks brings you closer to your spirituality and your emotional center.
You remember your childhood, snowmen and snow angels and putting Frosty the Snowman’s carrot nose in a different location, just for a snicker.
And if you look carefully into the snowbanks, you can still see the reds and yellows and blues and greens of nature, of sub-chilled waters kissed by sunshine; icy rainbows in the edges of frost.
I took these photos over the past five or six years. Many of these photos reminded me that there is beauty in winter. That there are moments where I can capture the grace and power and dignity of nature’s harshest and most vociferous season.
And if I can take those moments and channel the emotions from my timid, tortured, unloved soul into something to rival this beauty and majesty and glory of a winter scene…
Then maybe there’s still hope for me.
And those few tiny snowflakes that visited my windshield Sunday morning are the alarm clock. The wake-up call for the most visually stunning winter I will ever experience.
That might be what I need.
And in that, I might find my soul.
I hope so.
Truly I do.