Run, slide, repeat.
That’s what I and the otters did last week, I on my skis, they out on the ice, each in our own way celebrating the return of glorious winter to the northwoods. That early November snow was some of the finest I’ve ever been privileged to make a trail through, and judging from their antics across the lake, perhaps the ice was, too? Anyway, we certainly seemed to be agreed on the idea that all this cold stuff was meant to be enjoyed!
Then, as the sun lowered on the horizon, they’d run off in a companionable row, as you see them above, straight into their cozy den, and I’d swish my way back to my warm little house to wrap my cold fingers around a hot mug and sip steaming sweetness. 
Ah, winter with all your juxtapositions of icy beauty and cozy routines—how glad I and my sleek fun-loving neighbors are to welcome you back!
And speaking of fun, thank you to each one of you who played along in my little guessing game a couple posts back! In case you forgot or missed the post, I asked people to guess the book of the Bible where the “psalm” I used in the post was found, as well as which photo was taken in the city rather than the country.
The correct answers were: 1) the book of Daniel (2:19-23, if you want to look it up!) and 2) the first photo of bright red snake root vines. Unfortunately, nobody quite managed to guess both correctly, so I shall have to reserve my promised prizes for a later date! (So if you’re terribly disappointed about that, I’m sorry, but stay tuned for another chance!)
If nothing else, it was just fun for me to see who actually reads my blog. And, by the way, that goes for every time someone takes the time to comment, whether here or on Facebook. It’s a tiny bit of thoughtful encouragement that always makes my day, and I’m grateful!
“A man has joy in an apt answer, And how delightful is a timely word!” (Proverbs 15:23)
I’ve been seeing this black and white photo challenge happening around social media that sounded like fun.
And speaking of contrasts, here’s verse that contains a truly glorious one:
It really wouldn’t have been a proper Minnesota April (or May?) without a good snowstorm, now would it have been? Besides, I needed proof that crocuses really do bloom under such circumstances. They seem no worse for the wear for it—and I don’t suppose any of the rest of us are either. But just in case you were struggling with the idea of snow and cold after so long a stretch of warm weather—or even struggling with some other frustration or trial that has nothing to do with snow—consider this admonition of how to live that these brave little flowers model well:
Stopping by the woods on this snowy day did not start out to be quite as idyllic and simple as Robert Frost first painted it to be.
For a few moments, I was still, and the woods were still. There was not another car on the road within sight or earshot. The long list for the day faded away to the back of my mind. A tiny bit of sunlight twinkled through clouds above, kissing the forest in soft, warm light. The beauty of creation, which in turn pointed my heart to the beauty of its Creator, steeped into my soul. And I remembered this story:
When the winter days are so terribly short in the first place, one is all the more grateful for the sunshine when it blazes. The last few days have been gloriously full of light, and I went out into it as often as I could, cutting new ski trails through the woods and hardly needing a coat, so warm I’d become between the exertion and the sunshine. It’s so easy to love winter when the fresh snow is sparkling and billowy, and the sun sets in a blaze of fire at the end of each day.
But then there is today, when a warm snap is melting sad dirty spots in the plowed snow banks and the sky is one solid wash of nondescript gray. The light filtering foggily through those clouds is so diffused, there aren’t any shadows. This, I must admit, is not quite so inspiring. And it’s strange how easy it is to let one’s mood swing with it.
The ice is in.
Today, all was still and silent.
One day it was fall, the next morning we awoke to winter. A world of brown suddenly transformed to a world of white. Just like that.
It was wonderful.
And for something else, too, because there were two things to be thankful for, really. The pure clean snow, yes—but, even more, how it symbolized the state of my heart.
We were standing at the edge of a steep bank. Late afternoon sunlight slanted gold through pine branches over our heads, highlighting the moist hummocks of brilliant green moss creeping along the slanting forest floor. Below us, a river, satiated with a deluge of rapidly melting snow, rushed it’s wild, joyful way down to bigger waters.
The music of its abundant fullness reminded me of this verse:
So—remember those 
Some days, as Paul goes on to admit, are harder than others (and trust me, the hardships he had to face would make this unpleasant sick day at home seem like a picnic in the park!),
There’s nothing quite like seeing the beauty of nature through the wonder-filled eyes of a child…
Rejoicing Hills 