Yesterday we had a lovely snowfall, big snowflakes falling straight down with no urgency. In my afternoon class, we ignored the day's reading and talked about Ferguson instead, about what business owners could do to rebuild, to get insurance in the future.
Attending kindergarten in my hometown in 1962, I stood outside the school, waiting for my mother to retrieve me after the afternoon session, and I watched snowflakes fall upon my dark glove. I studied the six-point design, which I must've learned in school but hadn't yet observed in real life.
A "real life" quality of snow, that I didn't appreciate then, is the difficulties it causes for travel. My mother is gone now, and although it feels strange and sad that I'm not traveling to visit her for Thanksgiving, I'm also sadly relieved not to be going anywhere far today.
Along with snowflakes, I enjoy seeing light (the moon, or ambient light from the neighborhood) reflected from snow in the nighttime. The thin blinds on our bedroom windows glow as we fall asleep.
"[E]ven the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you," praises the psalmist (139:12). "I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground. These are the things I will do, and I will not forsake them" (Isa. 42:16).
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