Offering 2024–048

a tanka -

February morn
the winter twilight reveals
a blanket of white

earth, for a moment, pristine
time, for a moment, frozen

— —

I fell in love with our house because of the back window of the living room. Floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall, the window overlooks a wooded ravine behind our house. As seasons change, so does the view — from the vibrant hues of spring to the deep verdancy of summer and on to the warm colors of fall, the views can be quite enticing. Finding beauty in winter, however, can be a bit challenging, but when conditions are ripe, it can be stunning.

That’s what I find myself looking at this morning.

As I sat down for journaling in the predawn hours this morning, I looked up and was startled by the view. Staring into what would normally be an inky darkness, I could plainly see the outline of snow-covered trees in the scant light of twilight. As the morning continued to brighten, the view continued to sweeten until sunrise revealed its true glory — a landscape covered with four inches of snow. Even now, while writing these words, I took a moment to look outside and to appreciate the view.

Who knows if this will be the last time?

No, fair reader, this is not a jarring turn into the macabre. Snow can be unpredictable here in Southwest Ohio and this could be the last one we have this winter. When next winter comes, I won’t be here. Just like the water that makes up the snow moves on to what’s next, so will I. As much as I will miss our our house, my wife and I are moving on to a home the summer that will better fit where we find ourselves in life. As shortened commute may give me more time to write about the beautiful things in life, but the view this morning will no longer be one of them. As such, I will take a moment to look at it, write about it, and appreciate the moment I find myself in — a frozen scene frozen in time.