Hoarfrost

We have been waking up every morning to find thick frost covering everything. It is hoarfrost that makes all the roofs in the neighborhood look magical. When I secretly left a package on my neighbor's doorstep, my cover was blown because the my footprints left a flattened path in the stiff frosty grass in her yard.
When I see frost on the ground, I don't notice things like the bunches of dead leaves and dandelions underneath, the rosebushes that have frozen to death, and all the lumps in the lawn. It delights me so to see the white everywhere that I feel happy just to look at it, regardless of all the dead things and imperfections underneath it.
Hoarfrost seems to be such a medieval word. Reading the Bible in the King's English, I read, "The hoary head is a crown of glory..." (Proverbs 16:31). This verse would have us believe that the white hair of our elders is a reward for all that they have lived through, all they know, and all they have done in their lives. Their hoary heads are to be reverenced and deserve our respect as though they are kings and queens.
My father has had beautiful white hair for almost as long as I can remember. When he went back to school in his 50s, he dyed his hair to try to fit in with his youthful classmates. I just hated it, even though he looked younger for a couple years.
There is something so gracious about fluffy, white hair. It lives on top of brains that are full of the memories, stories, and feelings that have come with years of life. Even as hoarfrost comes at wintertime, so white hair comes in the later seasons of life and brings richness to all who make the time to take it in.