Yesterday C and I went for a ride to go pick up our dogs from the groomer. It was the second snowday in a row, and while the roads were clear, the remnants of the ice that had hampered traffic and business the day before were beautifully evident on the trees on the hillsides.
It may be March, but it’s not apparent on this road. The grass is browned and the trees are bare from the long winter. But this day, the brown bare trees glistened from the ice as the sun tries to appear.
The landscape of Tennessee was stunning. You couldn’t help but want to soak in the simple beauty.
I started to see things I hadn’t noticed before. I wondered about a road that has been hidden by the leaves and made a note to find it one day, partially for the experience and noting that could be a great shortcut next time traffic backs up.
I got to admire beautiful homes that were now exposed without the covering of leaves. Creeks and valleys unknown to me suddenly appeared between the road and the horizon. And while we have driven this road countless times, this was the first time I was able to take in the view with this sort of clarity.
We chatted about how C used to live on a mountain, and most of the year, the view from their home was just leaves. And more leaves. And more trees. But in the winter, you could see homes, roads, hillsides, and their small town below.
Maybe that’s a way of looking at Lent. A few weeks focused on stripping away distractions and coverings to be able to see. Clearly. To be able to re-direct your path and get a better vision of the horizon.
And then when the promise of spring arrives, I know I can enjoy the beauty of green grass, budding flowers and leaves and warming air, while being grounded in my new understanding of the road to follow.