Snow

It's Christmas morning.  I went out onto my back porch and saw that the wind had blown around about a foot's worth of snow to encircle and embrace all of the stray objects lying around here and there arbitrarily forming their own shapes that were now held within the drifts of whiteness that were more grey than white because the sun had not yet risen.  I knew that there were a few pieces of wood that were underneath all of that snow and wondered if I could remember their shape, but it was not to be - all I remembered was that I had placed a few pieces of wood there with the thought that one day I would get around to carving them to take up the spoons that their shapes had me anticipating.  I watched the snow shrouds emerge within the morning's light as my eyes adjusted, as I felt the cold seeping in around my neck, up the sleeves of my coat, around my boots to take some first tentative toying touches with my toes...  It was a beautiful morning.  I breathed the crisp air, heard the peacefulness of the morning's quietude, smelled a freshness that is only possible with newly fallen snow...  I tasted a tentative wafting hint of spruce from the nearby trees.  I saw crystals in the snow, and some slight hints of the wood within.

So much of what we envision is held within surfaces that encapsulate more beauty than we will ever be able to imagine.  But the present moment is the real beauty - the shape of beauty will always change, but here we are.