Does it ever strike you, how the night is brighter when there’s snow on the ground. How the darkness stretches from mid-afternoon to well into the morning, and yet the moon shines like a second sun, thinning the darkness into a silver midnight.
Does it ever strike you, how something so cold brightens the world.
The moon, I think, is to the sun what winter is to summer. Cold and bright in silvers and blues, against warm and soft in golds and reds. Think of how a candle flame stands out when alone in a snow-frosted window. Think of how it looks to the moon looking in.
Life stands out in the contrast they create, and I am caught between the two.
Does it ever strike you, how yellow blends with orange and red. How sunsets and flames and autumn leaves stick to your heart long after they’re gone, flickering and brilliant and changing, changing . . .
Does it ever strike you, how leaves slowly dying from cold can lead to such a beautiful sight.
I don’t think it strikes us often enough; and when it does, we are not patient to linger there. What an odd fear we have against lovely things. What a strange thing, how we want it all at once and then reject it wholly as too much.
Think of the muffled silence of a small snow-covered street. Think of how different it feels to drive through it, like time has slipped away and left the streetlights glowing differently in its wake.
Think of the sound of bullfrogs, echoing across a still pond as dusk sets in, and how such noise can feel like peace.
Do so, and then think on this:
How beautiful the world is that we live in.