West Texas grass is not beautiful until it’s laden with frost.
Greens and yellows and brown all coated by a sheet of white to birth a silver gleam. Bermuda grass, totally out of its element, is tested by the burden of a snowy glacé. A weighted blanket on leafy tundra, a winter’s night unveils the true character of the frozen turf beneath.
A person is not beautiful until we see their resilience under the pressure of life.
Back straight and dimples high flying in the face of pain and the admission of uncertainty. It’s not denial of the weight, but acceptance of the hope. Having suffered the trials of this world (and expecting more to come), the faith-filled wanderer is able to stand with a renewed spirit, fully recognizing a new truth:
Snow will always be melted by a new sun.