Saturday, December 14, 2013
Untitled Post
(Let this blank page stay here to represent all the moments I had something profound to say but not the time to express them. I think we have too many "blank page" moments...place holders for as yet unshared experiences)
The Wisdom of Snow
Written 12/14/2013
In Memory of the Victims of Sandy Hook
When you are called to the window by your childlike instinct
or the insistence of your child...to witness, to wonder, to watch
Each fluttering, floating, completely unique flake fall from
heights beyond sight and comprehensions, and we feel
our hearts soar with possibility, and delight at the knowledge.
Too many to count, too quick to move past us, too full to contain;
too much like our selves. Countless numbers of souls around us,
like the infinite number of snowflakes we will encounter and pass.
From the pane of your window, to the pain in your heart, you
move from the inside to the outside...the only way to truly see.
Catching at the corner of your eye, clinging to a lash or two -
face tilted, tongue extending...naturally; 10 years old again.
We find it a simple joy, as easy as pie for breakfast, cartoons
on a Saturday morning - cozy slippers shuffling on a wood floor.
Coffee mug in hand. We are still transfixed by it somehow.
The wisdom of snow, like the wise woman in the child of 10.
The beauty, majesty and unmistakable peace of a snowfall
reminding us of the rapturous wonder and intimate playfulness
of nature, love and life.
By Karen Biscoe-Dufour
In Memory of the Victims of Sandy Hook
When you are called to the window by your childlike instinct
or the insistence of your child...to witness, to wonder, to watch
Each fluttering, floating, completely unique flake fall from
heights beyond sight and comprehensions, and we feel
our hearts soar with possibility, and delight at the knowledge.
Too many to count, too quick to move past us, too full to contain;
too much like our selves. Countless numbers of souls around us,
like the infinite number of snowflakes we will encounter and pass.
From the pane of your window, to the pain in your heart, you
move from the inside to the outside...the only way to truly see.
Catching at the corner of your eye, clinging to a lash or two -
face tilted, tongue extending...naturally; 10 years old again.
We find it a simple joy, as easy as pie for breakfast, cartoons
on a Saturday morning - cozy slippers shuffling on a wood floor.
Coffee mug in hand. We are still transfixed by it somehow.
The wisdom of snow, like the wise woman in the child of 10.
The beauty, majesty and unmistakable peace of a snowfall
reminding us of the rapturous wonder and intimate playfulness
of nature, love and life.
By Karen Biscoe-Dufour
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