The air is cold, senses dulled.  Eyes glazed and wishing for sunshine.  Barren tree pleading for new life, waiting for the freeze to pass.  Storm clouds looming slowly releasing their soggy mixture.  Trying to find shelter but never feeling satisfied.  Yearning for brighter days where the warmth seeps into the skin and makes things feel good again.  Will it ever happen?

Then slowly, steadily it happens.  The clouds part, the rays sweetly break through.  Promised newness has sprang from it’s dark and hazy sleepiness.  Sipping from the eternal fountain as the water cascades to every part of that barren land.  The air becomes warmer, more inviting, easier to breathe in.  The sweetness is even sweeter than before.  A renewed sense of self is manifested in the reflection.  The secret place of holy communion is dusted off and living, speaking, dwelling.  Purpose has gripped the heart as my eyes turn upward remembering the storm, the blessed storm.