A few days ago when I arrived home from church, the sun was going down, but I thought there was just enough light to make for a pretty walk around the block. Also, it had been so cold that I just wanted to prove to myself that I could do it! You know that kind of determination: “Darn it, winter is not going to keep me inside for four months of the year! So here I go!”

I braced myself and set off. The wind was down right then, so I did not experience the instant pain we sometimes feel when we step out. The sidewalk was packed with snow from previous days, and the path felt surprisingly soft under my boots. I was noticing this, in fact, I was giving thanks for it, when I came up toward the corner, where a skim of golden light was thrown across an expanse of fresh new snow.

My eyes followed the light to the horizon. A line of trees stood stark and barren, not a leaf in sight, but bathed in the same golden light. By then I was in a thin place. I felt my own vulnerability. I remembered deep within that I am part of this living breathing being we call planet earth. I felt my oneness with the trees in our being alive here, for now, in this place, persevering through this drastic winter, depending on sunlight for our survival, for our nourishment, for our food, and knowing, together, the trees and I, that springtime will come, new life and new growth are even now coming as the days grow longer and more full of light.