Shadows on Snow

This explains why I said no when my grandkids asked if we could picnic on the deck.

Ah, Wisconsin. We should get a cutback from Florida's tourism dollars, don't you think?

Those of us who live in the northwoods pity the poor souls who've never seen snow, never crunched it underfoot or felt the unique sensation of snow down the back of the neck.

The topic of conversation in the narthex at church on Sunday was, "So, did you get dug out? How long did it take ya?"

In California, boys mow lawns for after school jobs. In Wisconsin, they shovel. Early in the morning. So the neighbor lady can get to work and the rural mail carrier can reach the mailbox.

I wish I'd had my camera with me two weeks ago. Following a snowfall of just a few inches--which around these parts we call a "dusting"--I drove home from several counties away, across a high ridge that afforded me a 360 degree view of the sunset.

The sun sets in the west, you say? That day, the sunset was a halo completely hemming the horizon. Colors like those in the picture, but a wider band.

The sunset threw pink and purple and periwinkle shadows across the landscape. The blanket of stark white became...temporarily...contemporary art. Striations of color skated on the surface of the snow.

It reminded me of an art lesson from high school. Shadows give objects dimension. Shadowless landscapes and portraits and lives are flat.

Am I grateful for life's shadows? I'm working on it.

While I grow, I'm grateful for the shadow of His wings.

Psalm 57:1--"Be merciful to me, God; be merciful to me because I come to You for protection. Let me hide under the shadow of your wings until the trouble has passed." (New Century Version).