Yesterday was a gorgeous snowy day in the Ozarks.
We woke up to 6-7 inches of snow. It was a gorgeous blanket covering the ground, the trees, the cars, everything.
Stillness and silence filled the air as most activities paused. First to behold in wonder, and then to wait the clearing of roads so that travel could be commenced safely.
By the late afternoon, the wind had picked up and the temperature had crested above freezing. The heavy blanket covering the trees began to shed, falling in clumps and bursts of snow dust.
Also by mid-afternoon the silence and stillness had given way for those of us quietly inside the house to play in the wonderland. I hooked my tractor to the sleds. The kids - now all young adults - put on their snow gear, so seldomly used in these parts, and outside we went.
We played. Asa the big brother had much fun throwing as much snow as he could gather on this sisters. Kyrie, the last of our crew, was a super child again - playing King on the Mountain, except we had no mountain, so she tried her level best to knock her big brother and I over into the snow. This tractor and rowdy play was reminiscent of when we lived in central Michigan a decade ago.
It was a good day. More restful, still, playful, and productive than days when I wake up and 'get to work'.
Reminds me of Ruth Haley Barton's work, Embracing Rhythms of Work and Rest, that I have been reading lately, of the necessity of rest that is included in the sabbath. I love the snow, in part because it imposes a sabbath that is good, peaceful, and filled with joy. I'm challenged by it also, because a true sabbath embrace has to come not from without, but from within.
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