We graze.

We graze upon the stillness, the serenity of days of snow.

Snow that falls, flakes, accumulates, builds in the minutes, hours, days.

We graze.

We watch.

We wait.

Silence. As if the whole world is asleep, still in the whiteness of winters birth.

The chill raps at the windows. It escapes, it drafts its way in. It stings.

The whiteness gives off its glow, inventions of man not needed.

Warmth to ease winters chill on bones, drink, though short lived.

He comes in and says its closed as are the roads.

He's home. He shovels. What number shovel it was I lost track. Last years was ran over with kids in tow. Grateful to find one left at the local store. Grateful to be able to purchase another one in a year to come.

He picks up his guitar, plays his music loud as little voices sing and dance.

We sleep and wake to snow upon snow.

                                    Laughter, eager excitement, anticipation.

Dressing of the children in snowsuits I would rather not do. But..for a few moments of temporary quiet, I dress them. Grateful he's home. Tomorrow I go it alone.

He takes them outside even though digits are single. No complaints. Only awe in the white.

Tracks are happily made by little feet. I love the tracks, of once was here. May their tracks always lead to the one who created them.

Days of graze. Days of white stillness.

This gaze, God's grace of divine splendor, a temporary stillness in the vastness that soon will be gone. It will vanish giving way to the normalcy of routines busyness.

A peace that the sun will soon shine, that the warmth will reappear, longing.

But now to graze on the stillness if only for a few moments.