Something about the snow enchants. The gleaming whiteness and the whisperings of snowflakes cast a spell of silent mirth. Snowfall finds the pup in the dog, the child in the human, and the magic in the air. The dull landscape of winter is transformed into a fairyland. The mundane is made fresh and new. What glory!From the storehouses of heaven, the snow is given, every drift, every flake. Each snowflake is a unique handiwork, proclaiming the glory of its Creator. Only a loving God would have given us beauty in a snowflake, or a snowfall. And down they fly, countless, peerless, and, as the day wears on, seemingly endless. Even a fall of rimed snow is glorious to behold.
Hills beyond hills fall away into a cloud of silvery grey. Trees rise stark against the white of the earth and the white of the sky and the brilliance of the air. The snow deepens. A breath of wind sweeps a drift. As simple and homely a thing as a coil of barbed wire becomes a thing of beauty in this landscape of changed colors and textures. New things are noticed, or old things are noticed anew – The faint and familiar grid of wire fencing, the grain of hundred-year-old wood, the color of old flower stems, the lantern hanging at the corner of the shop roof, the lichen on the fence boards, the rusted chain draped near a fence post, the snow-covered juniper and the white windowsill. Silence reigns in the falling snow. It is as if everything stops, except for the piling and mounding of snow, expectant, waiting. Windswept clouds of white curl off the roof and disperse, and drifts are coaxed into being. Every footstep is muffled. It is as if the world holds its breath to see what will happen next, to wake to a new world, a clean world, a renewed world. But in the silence there is a wildness, a pent-up energy, a joy waiting to burst forth. It’s in the air, and it gets into the blood, under the skin. Some bundle up and venture out into this frigid world, and are drawn into the spell. In a world enchanted, the cold seems less cold, the biting air seems sweeter, and the searing of each joyous breath is invigorating. The reverent, expectant silence of the snowfall is broken by peals of helpless laughter and sparkling mirth. Snow flies underfoot and overhead, and in the tumble and play of a snowy romp, we all become children again, carefree and snow wild.