Way up north in the woods of Maine we have experienced several snowstorms this winter. Snow blankets our garden, tucked to bed in the warmth of October days. We planted 200 tulip bulbs and patted the soil in a sign of farewell. My husband planted winter wheat that grew in the rich composted soil. Green sprouts waved in the wind. Could a plant really grow in late autumn here in New England?
Our warm, sunny fall felt like a trick. New Englanders waited for the other shoe to drop, for the Montreal Express to bluster into town. That expectation is always met.
So now I must look for new beauty, like William Bentley who was born on a farm in Vermont on February 9, 1865. He is famous for taking the first photograph of a snowflake. William Bentley said snow was as beautiful as butterflies, or apple blossoms.
He wrote these words.
Of all the forms of water, the tiny six-pointed crystals of ice called snow, that form in such quantities within the clouds during storms, are incomparably the most varied and beautiful.
I must put on the mind of William Bentley. I must stop and study snowflakes glistening on an evergreen bough, white as stars, tiny megaphones of God’s creation.