Beauty slows us.

 

They said they felt the hoar frost coming,

Felt it in their bones and sore jaws,

Felt it like a curse coming.

 

Hoar frost gets its name from the Old English word for aging.

Hoar frost, aging the world before our eyes,

White hair

Everywhere,

growing over night.

 

Old Man Winter,

Old Jack Frost,

Breathing, aging, spreading

White

Everywhere.

 

Beauty, like aging, slows us.

Did it slow you?

 

Maybe you slowed because of soreness,

Maybe you slowed because you had to scrape your windshield,

Maybe you slowed because of inconvenience.

 

But in your slowing did you see the beauty?

The beauty of the aging?

 

Every limb outlined with white,

Thick, crunchy, the sticking kind of white.

Every grass blade succumbed to the whitening,

Leaning over heavy, bowing in reverence.

 

Yet, nothing compared to the beauty

Of the evergreens.

They were not weighed down,

This aging, this hoar frosting was not too much for them,

They handled it gracefully,

A mere dusting,

Icing sugar,

Settling snug along the wide, needled arms,

Lots of room here,

Lots of weight to bear well,

Lots of strength to hold much,

And yet not be overcome,

They hold their green,

Amidst the white,

Evergreen.

 

 

The evergreens age well.

This hoar frosting,

It becomes them.

They make a Christmas card scene,

Out of everywhere you look.

They can handle it.

They are built for it.

They sweat through endless summers

and patiently drop cones year after year for this.

This time when they are what catches your gaze.

They are what stand out against all the white.

 

The ageless ones

Aging well.

 

Today,

Slow to see the beauty.

Slow to see the aging.

Slow to be ageless,

Slow to age well.