Hush

I am enchanted by snow when it softens a city.  It's like the gentleness of God blanketing all that is sharp and angular, and somehow this is magical to me.  Maybe that's because, in grade school, I rode the city bus twice a day, and I got to see a chunk of my town in its sooty as well as whitewashed conditions.

The bus made stops and starts along Main Street, its doors whooshing open to let in soggy passengers toting briefcases and shopping bags.  I could hear sighs of relief as these weary ones fell into seats; I knew they were grateful to simply let chilled bones thaw.  

The magic of bus windows was that they weren't stationary.  Views changed incessantly, just like on a television.  City sidewalks, storefronts of tall department stores, tree-filled neighborhoods lined with cozy brick homes.  The perfect backdrop for a young daydreamer.

I don’t spend time on buses anymore, but I look out windows.  Oh, indeed I do.  Today I glance out toward my street and am unable to find it.  There is only a field of white, with sunshine bouncing so strongly that it hurts my eyes.  I might as well be living on a farm.  Tonight there will be pink and blue and amber sprinkles under streetlights; I hope I remember to enjoy them.

Snow is, to me, the gentleness of God trumping the clamor of man.  No matter how sharp the angles of our buildings, they are softened.  There is a hush of city sounds. 

In the darkest months of the year, the ones in which we may feel starved for light - that's when snow comes to brighten our paths.  Yes, snow might change our plans.  Yes, it could cause some disruption.  

But if it’s here, we might as well enjoy the view.

“Praise the Lord... fire and hail, snow and mist, storm winds that fulfill His word…”  (Psalm 148:7-8)

Portions of this post are (edited) from our archives. 
© 2014 Nancy Shuman.  TheBreadboxLetters.blogspot.com

Painting: Meersburg im Winter 1931; in US public domain due to copyright expiration
 

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