There is something about winter.
The bare trees, the 'ghosts of winter' in the morning fog. The deep red of the sunrise coming through the mist that is hovering low, about to kiss the ground. The white as white crisp frost crunching under foot, the transparent cobweb, washed with dew drops, hanging on the fence like strings of pearls. The warm fire and hot cup of tea in a cup wrapped in chilly hands after the brisk morning walk. I have learnt in my day to day life that it dose not matter where you are, what ever you see, whatever you you do, its all a prayer on the breath. Victor Hugo said: Certain thoughts are prayers. They are moments when, whatever the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees.
Grace and peace from the Lord Jesus Christ.
Anne, servant of the Lord.
The morning mist comes down to kiss the ground
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