Got up as usual to the sound of the furnace kicking in about 5:30. Checked the wood stove, put on a pot of coffee, and ripped off today's copy of the sudoku. It was the blue hour, a magical time of day in February, but I wasn't paying attention. The lights were on in the kitchen, and I was working on my puzzle.
I heard the rumble of the snow plow coming up the lane and turned on the outside lights to assist him. Flakes falling and spinning slowly out of the dark skies overhead, like tiny feathers. The floodlights showed them like tiny stars nestling into the snow bank.
A universe of mini constellations that shifted about as I moved from window to window to better observe their glow in the blue/white light.
The sun shines not on us, but in us. The rivers flow not past, but through us.
John Muir
Zen page-a-day calendar
I heard the rumble of the snow plow coming up the lane and turned on the outside lights to assist him. Flakes falling and spinning slowly out of the dark skies overhead, like tiny feathers. The floodlights showed them like tiny stars nestling into the snow bank.
A universe of mini constellations that shifted about as I moved from window to window to better observe their glow in the blue/white light.
The sun shines not on us, but in us. The rivers flow not past, but through us.
John Muir
Zen page-a-day calendar
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