My little world is currently shivering through the coldest day of the year thus far. Can you hear it? Old snow turned ice crackles under my feet, a magical shroud of deep silence has descends upon the garden, and as a faint sun sets in the horizon, trees and bushes are crowned with tiny winter jewels like diamonds.
This is dusk in the garden... this is my world before total darkness envelopes it. Wild things (most likely just birds and a cat) have left queer prints in the winter snow. I love to study them. Footprints in the snow reminds me of art, of a painting smeared upon the land and of leaving our own marks for those who wants to read the true nature of our heart. They’re all dissimilar in their uniqueness, and they all carry the distinctive nature of its creator—like art.
The darkening sky looks like a new blanket, and is to the silent land as a beautiful memento of God’s presence in nature, discovered as silently and delicately as a foot-print in the snow.
