One week after attacks in Paris reminded us of deep divisions, pain and culture clashes, early snow began to fall here in large flakes, slowly at first, but then, as if to assert a larger idea of holding everything, a thick blanket was everywhere.  The roads were still and impassible.  Twenty four hours of Nature speaking and the landscape was still, picturesque, asking for simple wonder, as the light of sunset fell over distant trees to reveal mysteries of beauty in contrast.  Hold.  Stop there.  Have patience.   If only the external mirrored the internal automatically, without thoughts and actions in between.  But that, apparently, is not the plight of the journeying pilgrim, the one who seeks to find the third way, to awaken,…