



CHAPTER XIX 



THE HEART OF WINTER* 



THE sky is darkening over while the morning is 

 still young, no wind stirs the leafless twigs of the 

 trees, an awful silence prevails, no break is there in 

 the cloud which has completely overshadowed the 

 sky. It is all a cold, dull, uniform grey. A few 

 large fluff-like flakes of snow float dreamily 

 downward and settle gently on the frozen earth, or 

 catch on the bared branches. As silent members 

 of the advance guard of winter they tell the world, 

 in the language of signs, that Autumn has gone, 

 and for three moons the land will be held in the 

 cold grasp of snow and ice. Some say this is a 

 period of death, but pardon them, for they do not 

 know the winter moods. They think, because no 

 flowers bloom and the birds are unusually silent, 

 that there is no life. Why not say that the world 

 of plant life is sleeping, wrapped in its spotless 

 white sheet, sleeping and gathering renewed 

 strength for the great battle of life that comes with 

 the warmth of April sun ? Away from the cities, 

 where the snow is contaminated and disfigured by 

 man's appliances, the winter has glories greater even 

 than those of the summer, whether they are revealed 

 in the blizzard which keeps men in their homes 

 and spreads desolation among all that are not well 



* First published in The Churchman. 



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