We all knew it was coming, but there's nothing like experiencing the real thing. Why is it that a storm's winds can howl so much more convincingly around a 100 year-old house. Last night after 11 P.M. I stood at the glass front door of the darkened Rectory, transfixed by the power of the storm. The snow flying through the air showed the turbulence: each eddy and flow of the gusts carried on the strong North-Easterly. I stood, matching sound and motion, and entering into the dance between the two. Darkness and light. God is great, I thought.
School is out and the children rejoice. Time to play. Can the adults remember what children know so easily? And can we, in our play, be in awe of last night's power which created today's sculpted blanket of white?
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I just wanted to test how the comments section works. So it is Stuart typing on the machine at home.
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