Wednesday, November 13, 2013
The first snow transforms the landscape and there's something almost festive about it... kind of like familiar friends getting decked out and dressed up in fancy finery. The same trees one passes every day sway waifishly and are frostily dusted and cooly trimmed. They glitter in the early morning light.
With your breath swirling from your lips with each breath and your cheeks reddening with warmth against the cold, there's a bristling crispness. And there's a feeling... maybe true... maybe false... that anything is possible. The world is fresh. The world is new.
I am the archer. I am the bow. The arrow is my intention. Sheathed and at rest, it does no good. Let loose to fly, it may strike its mark or miss, but I will never know unless I try. I feel as though we all have a quiver of arrows and are full of potential. Will we always succeed at our endeavors? I can't say. Will the things we do matter? Can we make an impact? There's no guarantee. But on a snowy morning, when the world is fresh and new again, anything is possible. We just have to try.