Winter’s charge disorients us from the simple resurrection awaiting just beyond. The blinding white brushing against my window hides not only the soil’s deep sleep but its terrifying palpitations. And I am reminded by the early nights that we only turn corners more frequently and with greater abandon.
It’s all a distraction.
As if to keep a single moment’s beauty from setting our soul eternally on fire. One that we too often fear. Yet one which harnesses as much renewal as destruction.
We are creatures too easily distracted, too easily fooled.
Still, the winter ends.
Image Credit: Pixabay
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