Prelude in the Key of Joy
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Softly the snow falls, wee flakes, shimmering in the air. In the woods, silence blankets the ground. Even the high branches of the trees are hushed, as if with expectancy.
This is a place of magic and miracles, in waiting for the wondrous. You can sense it. You can almost taste it in the air.
Whatever is coming, whatever is about to unfold here, is making the very cells of the trees quiver in anticipation.
I stand very still and listen. Nothing breaks the silence. I hear my own heartbeat and feel my blood racing through my veins, singing some ancient song of coming joy.
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