Like snow flakes in a storm, words and thoughts blow about, not landing. The heart responds: maybe love loves a white-out. The world comes to an end. Wounds and arguments get muffled. The axe to the fallen apple tree ceases. Like a bird watching from a cage of branches I wait it out and let go of everything but this twig. Clusters of snow crazily float, lift, fall, jerk again and pass by, and by, and by. On a quiet perch inside a cave of spruce the spirit of winter and Christmas fills up this little space.
May this Christmas quiet grow from infancy to immensity for us all. I love you. I love you so much.