Tag Archives: snow

Lent 17

snow scene valley colour theory small

Stand on the crest of the hill, on the top of the wave, and sing into the snow. Let it take your song and fly with it, onwards and off into the storm, forming a blizzard of love. For if the world were to be embraced by such a sound, would it not lay down its arms and grievances, and weep itself  to its knees?

Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018

(artwork done from a photo for educational purposes only)

16. Snow



I don’t know about you, but I can’t see snow coming down thickly without thinking of Narnia. It always fills me with a magical tingle. Mr Tumnus may be out there somewhere, walking through the trees, his umbrella hooked over one arm and tail over the other, with no idea of the adventure he is about to have. The air is thick with the sharp taste of possibilities and imagination.

Photo and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017


Landscape of Love 98: Poppy Field


Yellow bricks just visible if you stand and look at your ruby boots, rapidly disappearing now under the blanket of snow that swirls in flurried flakes, mini-cyclones like the one that brought you here, so long ago. And the way is lost now and the cold soporific sleeting sways itself down in tiny feathered hammocks brushing your weary skin. Sleep is called for, and a soft silent space, where dreams may dare to shine rays into reposing forms. The red softened to pink blooms by tears, by failing strength, and slowly, one by one, we fall down and are covered.


© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Artwork by and © Bev Wilson, used with permission.


151: Snowfall

151 snowfall

I feel a tingling in the air that crackles at the ends of my fingers. I sense an electricity in the universe of love that vibrates my heart strings in a cadence of hopefulness – even in the midst of despair. It is like the sense of iron in the air before a thick snowstorm, or the bright whiteness of clouds about to burst with hail. That deep, magical half-light that is going to sparkle on some treasures and keep others in the dark. It is the crack in God’s voice as he speaks with love in his throat. It is the yearning expectation of every heart and heart’s eye looking to him in the midst of dreaded and dreadful times.

And the fear falls away as we look up into cavalcades of soft flakes, white covering blessings, crystal masterpieces, icy wonders, and we know and we see, and we cannot count them, only receive, and we hold out hands made holy by the cold light of heaven falling down to earth. We open our mouths and let the frozen breath of God the Father melt on our tongues into the Host of his Son, by the Holy Spirit who dances in the fizz of transformation, in the transubstantiation of ice into living water. And thus in this place of death we are given life and the thaw of our hearts begins. Life is beginning again. Taste the sharpness of blood, and see the world covered in a blanket of loving mercy.


©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015