Carolyn's poem again, Snowflakes by Longfellow
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.
This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I read this and immediately thought of Little Hampden, now I hope that we don’t have snow just yet, but it brings to mind the beauty of the snowflakes drifting to earth, a silent poem, that if you stand and look up, surrounds us, touching us lightly, almost as gently as the soft whisper of God’s voice.
There was snow in Little Hampden yesterday morning. Not as much as in the picture below which was taken in 2009
Open our hearts now to hear again your word
To welcome the living Christ
And to reflect on our response to his call