Fisher’s Peak. The mesa sitting on top of a 9600 foot high mountain that stands on the horizon at my backdoor. I was curious about the unique shape the snow storm had left and retrieved my camera to explore. The shape reflected the burn scar from last year’s forest fire. I pondered the tiny tooth pick trees stripped by the fire. Without branches or winter foliage the snow fell unimpeded and coated the earth.  Encircled by trees that somehow remained untouched, or less scared, the sentinels of drought and fire stood. Nature had placed a most needed quilt around their base. A good drink where they had had none before. Stripped and with winter’s cold the nourishing quilt will remain a while.

Like the earlier scrich of pierced wholeness, I guess sometimes becoming bare and simply standing as you are allows the grace to cover. A gentle smile as I think that’s a grand metaphor for this winter. A time of resting and silence yes. A time when the frantic pace of holidays gives way to shortened days and less activity. A grand metaphor of how such naked stillness may be just what I need…to let the grace quilt my heart.