(In the gray dead of winter, there is a certain shock that I experience when I look back at pictures of summer and see the lush greenness. Could this plot of land really be the same as the one that is now covered in a darkening blanket of ice and snow?)A voice says, "Cry out."
And I said, "What shall I cry?"
"All men are like grass,
and all their glory is like the flowers of the field.
The grass withers and the flowers fall,
because the breath of the LORD blows on them.
Surely the people are grass.
The grass withers and the flowers fall,
but the word of our God stands forever."
- Isaiah 40:6-8
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