Fog last evening... and then, from further down the garden as dark approached, all that could be seen was the tall roofs of the neighboring houses, and above and beyond the insipid night miasma.
Then this morning—snow. We woke up to a fine powering sugar dust of a snowy garden... Ah, it must have been the angels again! They think my garden is a bundt cake, and often delight themselves in dusting it! It must look terrific from above with a thin glaze of frost dripped over it or just a powdered sugar sprinkle of light snow.
I'm afraid of winter... it goes on forever collecting in the garden; so it seems. There are times when March reminds me of my own life—the faith's wheel hesitate, it gets stuck in a rut in the road, the eager early blooming flowers of all that is good and edifying to the soul are surprised by late frosts. I can only see ice-edged daffodils hanging their heads in sheepish dismay. The bursts of my energy for work and inspirations get blocked too in the juddering teasing mood of March, and wilted like frost-bitten petals, bloomed-too-soon.
I wish I could be like those people who always see the positive side of life... my soul struggles sometimes as it desperate looks for the smallest light... the tiny flame of my sacred heart. Life is beautiful; yet terrifying.