Wednesday, January 9, 2013

January 9, 2013

White is the color which directs the language of my heart—and what I see. White extends itself onto the bleakness beyond my window, and it covers roofs and branches of naked trees—indolent as they are to the ruthless power which distort, and bend them out of their dignity. And how my soul desires the wisdom of the naked tree on a winter’s day—to be able to carry upon my shoulders the burdens of my own snows and the ices which are the essence of humiliation, and anger, and yet be able to stand, like the trees, unbroken.

A tree I’m not. To have my eyes fixed on the sight of the cross at the top of the tower on the old church is to be fearless… but even there I see snow—a white heavy bleakness covers its foot, and above it, the harshness and despondency of a lifeless sky. Hopelessness.

I must seek the humbleness and meekness of the trees on a winter’s day. I must.

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