River and Rest

"I wish there was a river I could float away on...

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It's the little things. The teeny, round, glistening, crystallized things like snowflakes. He didn't have to make them this way, either.

When the scientist sees it, he sees dirt and water frozen together, creating droplets of precipitation. Sure, in its simplest forms.

When my dog sees it, she sees the opportunity for frisky play. A frolic in the cool, fluffy matter that has covered her once green playground. She sees the perfect chance to cover her face in a white, lacy beard.

When the child sees it, he sees the coming of Santa, the opportunity for a snowman friend. He sees the liftoff for reindeer, a day away from school, the magic that is winter. If he's truly imaginative, he'll even see Narnia.

And today, I'm tired. I see an opportunity for rest, comfort, celebration of peace on earth. I see a silent night, solemn angels singing, and the dream of a cabin warmed by a real fire (no light switches, please). A cabin with a warm blanket, stockings and hats, and the quiet of piano notes.

Because I am tired. Spent.
Because I am practicing the art of reclusive. (I haven't let go of that word since hearing it last week.)

So, I'm going to celebrate Christmas a little early. I could see the snow in its simplest form. I could see a hindrance on my path to home, or a hazard to my safety. But instead I see the opportunity of play, a chance to make my own Olaf, a beard on sweet Reese's face.

I want to see Narnia. I want to see the magic of winter, the celebration of a baby boy.

Because I am tired and need the rest.