Snow. Deep, cold, freezing blankets of it. Everywhere.
We've a promise of one long winter. Days and weeks of flinging on my black wool coat (which never wholly dries this time of year) and my gloves and knitted hat every hour, or so, to brave the white elements and shovel. Shovel, shovel, shovel all that snow so Tom can get out to drive to work.
Oh, one of his tractors is all set with a snow plow, but alas, a part on the tractor broke. I told him with a tired sigh, "Your tractors are your tractors, not mine. I cannot handle the bad news they bring."
So I shovel and shovel in the silence as I did yesterday in the blizzard, flinging snow against the wind which hurled ice crystals back into my face. Tom slept, for he had to work the night shift, but I beg him not to shovel anyway, him with his polio-wrecked leg and discs all a mess in his back.
I don't mind all this shoveling, not at this point in my Life, anyway. There's Grace galore all over me, drenching me, to do it.
And I am not alone out there in the swirling crystals. No, so not alone. Out there He is there, waiting, helping strengthen my back with each shovel load I swing. Grace, she's there, too, helping like mad, as well.
But it is He, the lover of my soul, who I seek out in the wind-thrown drifts, He who keeps me calm and working steadily. He who keeps me company. And He who sent our neighbor over yesterday with his snow blower to blow away what I could not have shoveled even with Grace, even with Him.
And it is He here inside with me, leaning against me on the couch while I rest before I brave the elements again. Always there, always here, always like a candle within me, warming me, a candle whose flame burns and glows and feeds and never, ever is snuffed out.