It is the little things that capture your wandering attention in March after a lavish snowfall, the sun flickering through the trees on the ridge, how the north wind ruffles branches and sets puffs of white stuff adrift in sparkly clouds, the morning sky turning in quicksilver motion, the contrast between the snowflakes and the bluey green of the evergreens where they have come to rest, the smell of fresh snow and pine needles all washed together.
Bedazzled is a fine word for mornings like this one when the world is a fine old shade of cerulean or sapphire and everything from here to there seems to be glittering and throwing off light.
Call it communion. All are part of the same thing or mu (no-thing or no-thingness) - the wind, the trees, the clouds, the snow and this old scribe in the woods, looking around in bedazzled wonderment and trying to figure out what she has ever done to deserve a morning like this. Emaho!