The sunrise never came. Snow above, underfoot, in the air – everything crystallized, cold, solid. Whispers of wind swirled spark’ling silver in the dusky dawn. The only fragments of the past were threadlike thoughts, twined within the breeze, remnants of yesterday’s time – The cries of a silenced world. You might have heard them if you weren’t quiet enough.
Is winter a time of death? Gloom and melancholy?
I think it is rather a time of silence and rest, made so that men must let Creation rest.
Noise runs rampant today, unbridled and coarse. Silence brings about reflection and the world fears to know itself lest it know the Truth. Our race prefers the cold groan of ice to the still of a summer evening, a bleak sky to the stars; To be blind than realize ourselves to be wrong, and be deafened by our machinations rather than hear the loving whisper of God.
There was a time when the world was ice to the core. It froze when the first father chose wrongly, and has only been thawing slowly for two millennia. Each time mankind challenges God, the chilling frost of Hell blows louder in acclamation. Evil does not realize (or proudly denies) that God can force Hell’s fires against the ice and turn the kingdom of rebels against itself to destruction.
Though sometimes painful and bleak, wintertime is a beautiful thing. Within the lack of colour and life, quiet and cold, shimmers anticipation of Life, warmth, and until then, a comforting of silence in a muted world.