I was awakened at 7:51 this morning, my cell ringing next to me on the nightstand.
My dad.
Asking if I'd seen outside.
I pulled back the curtains and saw snow whipping past furiously in the wind.
Looking out across the street toward the mountains, it all looked gray.
Lots of flakes, lots of blustery.
Benji sat on my bed and declared it "a bluish day."
I thought it fitting.
Which is why we're going on our weekly indoor outing today: to the bookstore.
Buy a treat.
Go to the children's area.
Pick a stack of books.
Go into the book nook.
And read away for a while...
This afternoon I'll make something hot for dinner and we'll enjoy the cool feeling while it's here.
Tomorrow it's supposed to be almost 60...just in time for the big Easter hunt and barbeque with cousins.
That's spring here for you.
In some ways, it seems almost fitting. On that Friday morning a couple millennia ago, something sacred and final took place. It seems right to have a gray day, because of the tremendous sadness, earth's recognition of the enormous sacrifice just given. And then, tomorrow's sunshine will lead into Sunday's 70 degrees warm. As if nature herself is going to testify of the glorious message of the resurrection to follow, that all was not lost, that life returned again -- for all of us.
I rejoice in this.
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