The Law

Well, come on now, fair weather friends of THE LAW let's talk about it... in terms of weather.

As I look out my back door, our recent snow fall is slip sliding away. As I try to fall asleep, and embrace my nightly dreaming, I hear it streaming through the gutters of my steep old roof. But, this is an illusion. These are the sounds of spring, but winter is only just beginning.

And I think of all the fields I've known, covered by a frozen white stream. And, as the sun melts this frozen stream, it drips and seeps through its own cracks and seams to find its way, with gravity, toward the barren face of our farmers field.

And I think of my grandma's house on the farm, and I think of my grandma's mother's cupboards all packed with everything pickled, prepared, and jarred. And I remember daily meal times. The white wooden cupboards were cracked to yield the slow and halting harvest, whose memory is folded and kneaded into the crow's feet and calluses they all shared.

The water from the frozen stream feeds the summer soil slowly and the fruits of our labors will feed our family fully.

It is winter and the harvest may be complete for some, but not for us. We have one week left. And, there are only 12 days until we celebrate the source of new life and the comfort we know in that silent night.