Today there is snow and fog at The Bield. The snow covers up the ice, and the fog covers up the view.
The stork in the garden was surprised by snow and is now covered by it. Gives her an aura of elegance as if she were wearing a fur coat, complete with pill box fur on her head.
Walked up Moncrieffe hill the other day. Very icy. Adventurously ventured up anyway. Of our party, two hit the deck twice: I was one. Nearing the top of the hill, I needed to cross the icy path, having ascended on the verge. I put one foot out. It seemed a wee bit slippery, but OK I had my staff. So I put my other foot out. For a moment I thought: good. As I moved to complete my crossing, I found myself sliding ever so gently down the path... Backwards. I have tried this sort of thing once, skiing. Just dive into the snow, and movement stops, I was instructed, and everything is fine.
It’s a different matter on sloping ice.
I was taking this all in whilst gathering speed on the icy path. Options presented themselves to me
Do nothing and let “nature” take its course - Outcome uncertain.
Attempt to turn around in order better to control the slide - Absolutely no control. Not an option
Throw my self down as on a ski slope. On hard ice? Time was running out and below me, the path took a turn. A tree stood beside the path, ready to ‘receive’ me. So I threw myself down. On the ice. And kept on sliding.
Our dog jumped on me ending the progression.
We made it to the top of the hill. Great views.
Back home that evening I was going out with the dogs. Fresh air is good for you. Halfway out the door I realised I had left something in the house. I rushed back in, slipped and crashed to the floor. It really hurt. I lay on the floor, waves of pain washing over me, wondering whether I had broken my thighbone. Groan!
She who was within earshot appeared. Seeing me she burst out laughing: Isn’t it ironic that you should fall in here? Then compassion kicked in and she brought me a pillow for my head, and a blanket to cover me. Finally she offered to take the dogs out, as clearly I was incapable of doing so.
I lay there: never take yourself too seriously. You are covered by Grace. God loves you. Romans 8:35, “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?"
Eventually, uncovered, I got on my feet bruised, but not broken.