I miss snow days, when the kids were little,
when the smallest of hills was a thrilling, exhilarating, GIANT sled ride adventure . . .
when taking a walk in our overstuffed snowsuits was like going on an expedition,
listening to the sound of the crunch, underfoot,
as each boot landed, brusquely, on the moon . . .
leaving our crusty, astronaut footprints behind,
as we navigated along the uneven surface.
And, as we walked along, our bodies blanketed up and protected by the bright,
winter white world, we might have stopped, along the way,
to pick up a handful in our mittens - feeling the softness, the wetness,
and the cold against our faces . . .
sticking our tongues out to catch the fluffy, white, powdery wonder.
We would make snowballs for throwing,
snow forts for protecting,
snow jumps for soaring.
And, snow angels,
for . . . creating, imagining, smiling -
Then, back down to earth, where we would journey together for shelter -
a place to rest our weary feet.
And, what a sight to behold!
A cozy little cabin . . .
the smell of hot chocolate, inviting us in.
Sweet magic in a cup, to warm our insides.
Snowman poop . . . floating on top.