We are waiting for Christmas, for the Incarnation of Christ, not that I think that is what Wyeth is referring to in the quote below; for nature’s Spring we have to wait months more.
But Christ is our “Dayspring from on high,” as Zacharias foretold when prophesying about his son John the Forerunner who had just been born:
And thou, child, shalt be called the prophet of the Highest: for thou shalt go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways; to give knowledge of salvation unto his people by the remission of their sins, through the tender mercy of our God; whereby the dayspring from on high hath visited us, to give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace. (Luke 1)
I’m feasting on that thought today, how every morning Christ wants to be our souls’ Warmth and Light, like the life-giving sun of spring and summer, no matter what the weather outside.
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape –
the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter.
Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.
–Andrew Wyeth
into her heart and gave me of her self: her motherhood of thirteen children, her married womanliness shaped by devotion to a passionate and visionary man, her thankfulness to a loving Father.
at she liked to write in, her Gnome Gnotebook, repository of decades of treasures she had collected in the form of poems, quotes and proverbs. I had enjoyed exploring the original book whose pages had long ago been filled up; when she ran out of room Bird simply wrote any new notes and poems on scraps of paper and kept them tucked between the pages, the whole bundle getting fatter and fatter, held together with a rubber band and always kept within arm’s reach.
Gladsome Lights 