It snowed last night.
We awoke early to the sounds of gurgling and cooing baby noises in the far northern corner of the house and AA climbing into bed next to me, curling into a little ball in the curve of my long body.
The shades were drawn up and we peered out into a winter wonderland, Audrey exclaiming, “It’s Christmas!”
Later this morning she tells me, “Mama, we need a Christmas tree.” Of course. “And a sled,” she tacks on. I concur.
God bless LoAnn who proceeded to spend the rest of the morning with her building a snow-girl with a long mane of moss hair and eyelashes. And because the snow was so wet and heavy, branches from the old maple were falling to the ground and made for an excellent Christmas tree farm. They made handmade Christmas ornaments, leftovers from Valentine’s day and decorated the Christmas tree in the backyard. What a grand time!
I, in the mean time, was out visiting patients in Waukegan and Beach Park, thoroughly enjoying the heavy laden snow branches. I stood on the stoop of a patient’s front porch admiring the quiet stillness that snow lends and the chunky white stuff clinging to the huge buds protruding on the magnolia tree. I found myself just drinking in all that beauty despite having to traipse about in it, getting stuck in it here and there, caring for the sick on a Sunday morning when most are still in their pajamas drinking coffee. Feeling thankful and full of joy, for all the beauty and quietness of snow.
Do not curse this white stuff. It is God’s message to me (and to you) of his beauty and his stickiness. He clings to us like wet snow on every inch of every branch of every tree sprawling the entire countryside of the midwest. That is some expansive, tenacious and wet kind of love.