Morning dawned to sun and snow. Just less than a foot of powdered sugar piled high on homes, lawns and disparate objects mistakenly left outdoors. The stillness brought on by a snowstorm’s beauty and immobility are inherent. Cold, white precipitation invoking the child within – snowballs thrown, forts created, snow-people built.
There will, in time, appear the adult. We are one and the same.
Someone really does need to shovel the driveway, sweep the walk, salt the slippery ground. My doorbell has been ringing since 8 a.m. with people looking to be adults. For a fee. My sleeping son assured me that he would be that adult today. On his birthday. He will no doubt grab his sister, also sleeping, both will dress in snowboarding outfits and boots, they will throw snowballs and shovel the powder. They’ll laugh and argue. And so it will go, back and forth, until the driveway is (relatively) clear and they are red cheeked and frozen. They will then spill into the house, like oversized puppies, making a mess with snowy boots and wet clothing wanting hot chocolate.
I’m hopeful that somewhere within the storage bin of my garage, there lives a shovel. Moving massive amounts of snow without one would prove difficult. On the otherhand, note the beauty at which I look…