Winter Sabbath
A pallet of white replaces the pyrotechnics of reds, yellows and gold’s that mark the approach of the long season of Sabbath.
Those creatures not able to escape are now left to eke out a living in this desolate season of Sabbath.
While the wealth of foliage, the abundance of life now seems a distant memory in the midst of this sterile season of Sabbath.
Few are the calls of the creatures, an eerie silence, a frosty breath are all that can be heard in the silent season of Sabbath.
The clattering of dried Oak leaves in the wind. They cling to the branches as if to say not yet, we will not give in to the season of Sabbath.
The icy clutch of a brisk north wind, the unrelenting cold that seems it will never give up the frigid season of Sabbath.
The sun begins to inch its way closer, the days begin to lengthen. Could it be a foreshadowing of an end to the long season of Sabbath?
The world shakes off the sleeping blanket of despondency to reveal new life. Everywhere we look we see the hopefulness of the demise of another season of Sabbath.
