She moves with stealth behind the scenes of autumn, steadily edging toward the razor cold 

and lacy veil of ice and crystal. Then quietly she falls, winter’s 

glorious mystique reveals in a day. In layers, it descends and deeper it penetrates, 

much more than surface. The chill and snow seeps below. But not to spurn. It’s the

season of fireside reflections, listening, and drawing up spring’s blueprints. It’s the 

time to embrace retreat in preparation for tomorrow’s advancement. The ravage 

of winter is nothing to fear for I have prepared for this day by holding fast to the scarlet

stream, that bloody flow that covers the stain pure, in white shelter.

Bonnie Saul Wilks