The winds blew straight out of the west, whipping the fine snow up, swirling it about in a violent frenzy, dropping it down in rippling drifts.
For several hours, it was beautiful. Freshly fallen snow. Communities gathered in their front yards, folks who hadn’t seen each other all winter, normal boundaries now hidden by powdery white hills and valleys. Distant neighbors shared snow blowers, helped one another, wondering when the plows would come and they could return to their normal lives.
And the plows did come. Things returned to what all considered to be “normal”. The plows forced their way through, taking the smooth, fresh drifts and breaking them up, creating jagged, rough edges visible to all. Edges that seemed to go with the “normalcy” of life but yet marked the end of beauty that once hid all ugliness.
Dark slush spilled forth, gushing through the white, revealing the truth within. Beauty eventually was completely hidden by the truth within.
And then there was a pause, ever so brief but a pause nonethless. The ugliness spilled forth, laid bare for all to see. It was painful to watch, the memory of white purity faded quickly.
But, a day later, it snowed again. 24 hours non-stop. The rough edges were smoothed, the black sludge disappeared. Beauty, peace, and calm ruled over all as the ugliness yielded to the newness. Rolling white newness that was there for it to forever accept.