In the cast of the floodlight of the dark morning hours, the snowflakes descend lightly, haphazardly toward the hardened soil. No precipitation can penetrate its diamond surface now. Ten thousand floating crystals drifting in the air; they dance, weave, dart; covering the wandering deer prints as they tumble into piles of snow.

The air is cold. The world is cold. My windowpane is, too. Even the giant orb—the Ruler of the Day—has little effect over this reign of frozen gray.


Little songbirds rummage through inhospitable, unkept flower beds which, not so many weeks ago, were lush and friendly to their needs. They do battle for a place at the feeder and sift through shells for seed. They pause from their scanty banquet and expand their fragile frame, doubling their size as their downy feathers give rise to generate and sustain a bit of heat atop wiry legs and feet.

How good Our Father is to care for these little ones! In this His mercy does show! Life passes through her seasons and whatever chills it brings, it warms my heart to rest assured and know, His eye is on the tiniest of things.

“All will be well! All will be well!”
The Carolina Wren doth sing.
Clear and strong, in notes assured.
She is a harbinger of spring.


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