The snow itself tells a story. And so tell me what today's snow tells us. Spin our tale, snow.
The snow is soft on the bottom and hard on top. There is a crust of ice on the snow, from the nighttime's freezing rain. A metal shovel will do. Did you know that every inch of rain could be up to ten inches of snow? The crust of frozen water is lost potential. I break through the ice in frustration. The snow breaks apart in great chunks. I lift jagged blocks of snow with gloved hands. The snow lets me prove my worth. I am not just taking up space in this world. I have a purpose. The purpose is to clear obstacles for my loved ones. The snow is piled into one tall spot in the street. This snow is a testament to my worth, my ability to solve problems with brute strength. My daughters see the snow in the pile that I created and they do not see the obstacle. This snow is to them an opportunity. They sled down the hill of dirty street snow. We walk through the snow, around the block, into the back alleyway. The snow is slick. This snow is good for dragging kids in sleds. There is a mild hill behind our home, normally a driveway in the warmer months, but today: a racetrack. I grab the reins of the sled with the littlest one on her belly, two older siblings at the bottom of the driveway to make sure she isn't flung into the creek, and the icy snow tells another story, one final story for today: three-year-old, tear-causing wind, wild smile plastered to her face, as she speeds down the hill, the hill that the snow has made.
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