The snow is a steady worker, patiently painting our corner of the world, quietly covering the ground in glitter. How silent the earth is when it snows: cars quieted, roads empty, stores stilled. When I look out the window, I see, as the snowflakes twirl soft to the ground, the winter birds seek shelter in my tree. They flit from the feeder to the branches, collecting berries in their beaks, soaring back to safety: here, there, back again. I love the tree in front of my house. It is beautiful and is cloaked for all seasons– it flings white confetti in spring– becomes brilliant green in the summer– blazes amber in autumn. And in the winter, though its brown branches seem bare they are not barren– they provide for the bluebirds, the cardinals, the tiny finches, the robins, and the wren, the sparrows that God created: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” (Matthew 6:25-26).