Waking to Snow

If you listen, the morning talks to you through its white silence. There is a depth here that falls away into prayer, a stillness that seems to veneer an even deeper still. My footprints sink into the fresh snow and mark it with a kind of sacrilege, scoring a pristine glaze with a clumsy presence. All this undisturbed loveliness is already beginning to melt. I stand and feast on the moment taking in as much as I can. By this afternoon, the snow will be gone. I am learning to find joy by letting go.