I stood motionless for long minutes at the crest of the pasture, watching the tree line, listening to the evening, beginning to shiver, and slowly letting myself be enclosed by the cold white nightscape. The pale, ashen chill held me as if I were sealed within an envelope of white, like a letter to be delivered to a winter evening. Yet the real delivery, and a special delivery at that, was the rare gift of a snowy, snowy landscape here in the deep, deep South.
Postscript: Photos below are from our "back yard." Photos from the "front yard" of the monastery can be seen on our Community News web page.
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