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Snow and Roses

February 24, 2021

7 of 40

A little Snow was here and there

Disseminated in her Hair —

Since she and I had met and played

Decade had gathered to Decade —

But Time had added not obtained

Impregnable the Rose

For summer too indelible

Too obdurate for Snows —

Emily Dickinson

Walking to do this in the dim, I see snow that has not left us for almost 3 weeks. A near record in this coastal place, where it gets cold, and it snows, but not long for each. So three weeks seems like a long time.

Entering my office there is a patch of dirt, facing south. I looked down as I fumbled for keys, and, voila, the tiny daffodils are popped, surrounded by the relentless snow.

Forget the treacly saw metaphors of hope, future, Easter – this is, basically, what we, here, have come to know. And also the late, hard frosts that kill or maim these volunteers.

But this year, this spring, there is a truth seen because of this year. Life. The world is fully buried in a blizzard of plague, deaths, sickness, now vaccinations and all the protocols in between. But life, living, not dying, has been under all this snow.

Why? Depression in this year has caused suicides, overdoses, beatings, child abuse all in record increase, but all to a tiny minority of we, the living. Most soldier on, some game a regimen to party, to get vaccinated when the rules say you cannot, some become the harpies of judgment that declare “SINNER” at those who violate the Commandments of Correctness. Some are both of these things.

Because we are human.

And because all of this – the snow, the rose, the virus, the morning – all of this was made by something other than we ourselves.

If the other is not understandable other than documenting its particulars in complete ignorance of its cause, or even just the motivation that made its existence beyond chance – the reality is, to me, God.

But Time had added not obtained

Impregnable the Rose

We do not make the rose. It should not happen. In a time where 40F is rare, why do the tiny daffodils happen? The overwhelming power of life overcomes the snow.

Life will overcome the Plague, too.

A year in Lent was a year in life, seeing its tender thread of extreme power. We are switches that when reading this are “On”. The “Off” flick of the switch is inevitable for each, but for life itself there is no “Off”.

It may lay under the snow, unseen. But God is there, too. We just need to see that God is with us, as well.

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