But not every tree was robed in white light. Scattered throughout the winter scene were trees raging with fire; ashes in place of flakes of snow. As blood-red drops touched their tips they were instantly consumed, all that was left was a smouldering heap of blackened wood.
It's a strange mix: red and white. Some places reaping fire, some places reaping snow. A landscape of undeniable winter beauty, mingled with the charcoal remains of ruined greenery. And there were no clues, no telling if the blood-offering from the sky would consume with fire or if it would adorn a tree with a blanket of snow.
I couldn't see the source of blood in the sky. It covered an expanse that was more than my eyes could scan. But i know it was the life-blood of life it's very self. I know it was so pure, it could only cleanse or consume all that it fell upon; the blood of holiness, the blood of spotless love. I know it ran from wounds of agonising pain; the blood of victory, victory won in death.
After some time the blood sky faded and i saw that the snow covered trees were awaking to a spring day. Though they had not been consumed with fire, they had still slept in death, but now buds and blossom pushed through the white blanket as it melted away, and it was evident they bore a strength of life far greater than ever before. The air was alive with the sound of song, and the warmth of life. And there was no trace of the trees which had been destroyed. All that was left was new, transformed by the cleansing life given in the blood white snow, transformed by the sacrificial love of nothing less than a spotless Lamb.
"Cleanse me with hyssop and i will be clean; wash me and i will be whiter than snow." - Psalm 51.7
"Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool." - Isaiah 1.18
"He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His wounds we are healed." - Isaiah 53.5