The Dance of Winter

The heavens darkened as thick clouds shrouded the wintry night. On the upper side of the clouds, moon-glow illuminated the icy formations, covering them with endless sprinkles of light.

The winds strengthened as clouds grew like helium balloons filling to capacity. Cloud after cloud enlarged until all became one, a giant unseen force covered by the cloak of night.

Earth, silent below, slept and waited.

At the appointed time, the single cloud unconsciously erupted, spewing frozen specks through the sky. Some were tiny, almost beyond discernment. Others were much larger, though all fell to earth at the same tempo. Millions of intricately shaped flakes waltzed unannounced toward earth's chilly bosom.

Bows of naked trees extended and offered a resting place. Some accepted the invitation, while others drifted quietly to the earth. The waltz had ended for many, while others continued the downward dance. As the slow music ended, the wind DJ changed the music, picking up the pace with a lively tune that whistled through the snowflakes and sent them into a frenzied dance, swirling together and wrapping themselves around houses and cars. As the wind continued, so did their dance.

The earth had become the cloud's ballroom.

Hours passed. The wind finally packed up its music and slipped away, leaving the exhausted snowflakes asleep on the dance floor.

Slowly the skies announced the new day. The cloud had come to earth and now made its presence known in a regal fashion. None within sight of the dance floor could ignore what had taken place during the night.

As the day grew, people moved about on the dance floor. Children rearranged the fallen snow into big orbs for creating snow figures and much smaller orbs for throwing. Snow shovels moved the snow dancers from driveways and sidewalks.

As the nights and days continued, the snow took on a new shape, finally blending into the earth's floor. Some of it returned to the skies to attend another sky dance and would perhaps dance again as rain or sleet. Or perhaps it would again waltz in its gown of pure white.

And the cycle continues year after year. It's part of a Master plan. Oh, for the beauty of the earth and for the glory of the skies, Lord of all, to Thee we raise grateful praise.

Learn more about this author, Swanee Ballman.
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