There is not another like Her. She reigns as the only Supreme Queen.

All powerful, all knowing, all gorgeous and wonderful. She can cuddle, punish, and make something out of nothing in all the best, and all the most horrible ways.

She does not limit Herself with rules. Even as others try to find Her patterns, copy Her techniques, pull apart Her process, name Her works of art. She is not knowable. Nor does She ever want to become a brand or establish a school of thought or teach Her methods of success or gather up disciples to be coached.

The intellectuals will proclaim that She can’t be loved, because She is nothing. Yet they obsess over knowing Her as much as I obsess over loving Her.

She combines colors without a color wheel. Textures, shapes–She sculpts without a guide. She follows no one. Using wind, water–time–She is a master at the melodies of waiting. She moves, one snowflake at a time. One frozen droplet. One swish of the bumble bee’s wing.

She gives everything and takes everything away. She is The One Mother Nature.

Today, in my part of the universe, She is in full command. She has stopped the frantic world. I will watch Her in flight, all day. I’ll go out into the fury of Her work, strapping on my snowshoes and packing my body into layers of clothing.

I will marvel at the extremes of all Her details. I will think of a prayer, and say it.

But Mother Nature hears no prayers.

She sends every snowflake from the heavens without a flight pattern, without radar, without a map. There are no trip leaders. No GPS, no cell phone, no pinterest, or instagram.

She will create Her artwork–Her sculpted snow drifts and iced ponds and starry nights and sun shining sparkly snowfields–

Without ever leaning on a prayer.