He noticed the sky’s rumblings and turned to find her 20 yards back. “The angels are bowling,” she yelled and laughed but her eyes were serious, scanning the water. His eyes roamed the scene before them: street lamps, floating balls of light, snow falling on dark pavement, warmth of a late afternoon sun creating reflections of light.
He stared past the flakes that landed on his glasses blurring his view, and beyond the sound of a passing car, heard the wind—a slow steady howl. It came nearer and he turned back again, had the urge to embrace her, to protect her from all elements, from all that would interfere with peace.
He felt a vibration run through him as the street lights went out one by one causing the white of the melting snow to appear even whiter, creating a shroud around them. Quiet exits within the center of an atom—oxygen: eight protons and eight electrons. Perfect balance.
Wind, the outgassing of light—chemicals and elements from a planet’s atmosphere moving into space—air rising to the warmth of the sun. Wind creates, destroys, sculpts. Breath. Breeze. Gusts of life force. Wind distributes seeds that die and regrow. Breathless stillness returns to life.
Without a word, the wind had entered and altered his state of reasoning. Tiny clinging drops of snowflakes’ residue rolled down his glasses again—years passing, tears counted. Water. Renewing. Restoring. He turned to her and noticed she was beside him. Walking in step.
The voice of silence had spoken into his being. In the center of quiet he had been filled. Balanced. He listened again, and heard. God’s beauty.
Advent Day 22