Now it is White

The first fluffy flakes have fallen, and the driveway has been shoveled for the first time this season. Gerry and I, out and about on an early morning errand, encounter a pickup truck coming toward us with its lights flashing, warning us of something ahead. We brake, and slide, and come upon a young man standing on the meridian talking into a phone, the front of his truck wrapped around a street sign.

Now it is white.

I think of those affected in our province by mudslides and floods: those without heat and potable water and those who have been displaced, their homes destroyed or damaged. To them, the snow and freezing temperatures mean something else entirely. With the downstream impact (no pun intended) of rising prices and a broken supply chain and the paradox of labour shortages amid job losses, I wonder how this winter will play itself out for all of us.

I don’t know, and I’m almost afraid to speculate.

All I know is that now it is white.



I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.

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