No days like snow days

For folks who rarely see a good snow, a few inches of powder that doesn’t melt upon contact can make for exciting times.

Local TV stations pre-empt scheduled programming for round-the-clock reports of traffic conditions while shivering reporters stand at empty intersections and try to make up something interesting.

Children get out of school (in our case, a full day before the first flake fell), and many businesses close.

People who rarely eat bread or drink milk rush to the grocery store to stock up.

It’s ridiculous.

And yet, it’s fun. Grungy pavement and weedy yards become pristine. Barren branches and evergreens sport snowy highlights, while porches and patios reveal surprising new geometry.

Kids play, snowballs fly, animals romp, adults post pictures on Facebook and Instagram.

Some jobs can’t be postponed, but most folks heed the warnings to stay at home. Even when there’s work to be done, it’s more fun by the fire with a mug of hot chocolate close by and a picturebook world outside the window.

We know when it comes that it won’t last long, and we know it will cause hardship for those who lose power or have to change travel plans or have to work regardless, but we’re not sorry for enjoying the glittering day as a gift of God, who “gives snow like wool” and “scatters frost like ashes” (Ps. 147:16).

We enjoy it while we can.

2 Comments

  1. Your allusion to snow as mentioned prominently in Isaiah 1 created a horrific problem in Europe in the harsh winter of 1944-45, about which I wrote this years ago:

    B A S T O G N E

    The scarlet and the snow…the crimson and the wool
    Isaiah seemed to know – but not this fiendish ghoul –
    This battlefielded ghoul that graced a frigid hell
    Saw each a bloody fool, whose life it would expel;
    But, not unlike God's seer, it stared down years of time
    When it would leech – as here – young blood while in its prime;
    The scarlet, deadly sin…not bleached in falling snow…
    And wool, with life within, dripped crimson – friend and foe.

    The scarlet and the snow…the crimson and the wool
    Isaiah had to know – but not a tyrant fool
    Who reasoned not with God…but came, instead, to kill,
    Who made his minions plod toward graves that thousands fill,
    Who was incarnate sin…the scarlet, crimsoned wool…
    His god – himself within – though simply Satan's tool;
    But, in that icy hell…where tens of thousands fell,
    No tyrant fool would dwell – the proud knew all too well.

    The scarlet and the snow…the crimson and the wool
    Isaiah could but know God reasons with no fool;
    So, scarlet ruled the day…and crimson ruled the night,
    As sin engaged full sway…the snow and wool to blight;
    Men's scarlet-crimson gushed, as – brave – they fought to death,
    Their screams of pain not hushed…till final, rasping breath;
    But, right would win the day sin's scarlet-crimson spawned,
    When wrong was made to pay…and hope, again, had dawned.

    The scarlet and the snow…the crimson and the wool
    Isaiah – did he know? – about each frozen pool
    Of red that stained the earth, when warmed and gone to ground,
    Of blood that gave rebirth…pure wool in earthly mound,
    Where buglers sound the dirge for freedom-fighter's loss,
    Where mourners yet emerge…from fields of star and cross.

    The soldiers – friend and foe – from summer years have gone…
    And where, then, did they go? – they went to cold Bastogne.

  2. An interesting poem, Jim — though my reference was to Psalm 147, not Isaiah.

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