My beloveds are out trying to find the reassuring clunk of metal under piles of snow.  Rachel needs to get to work.  Her car is in the midst of a snow mound somewhere.  This we believe.

We got socked with yet another snow slam.  The week before had been warm and the hope of spring was real.  As true Minnesotans, though, we knew better than to believe that the days of down coats were behind us.  We were right.

On Sunday next I am escaping.  Cooper and I will be in Florida for a week.  We’re assessing the book stock that needs to travel with us and imagining the way it will feel to smell air that has that lovely essence of growing things.  I am so ready.  About this time of year my skin longs for sun and my soul clamors for unbundled being.

But where else could I live but here?  The snow makes for great reminder of humility.  The clean cut of the air and the sense of gumption it takes to go about appointed tasks are great reminders that we live in the midst of a creation far beyond our manipulation and control.

I can be philosophical about all of this because awaiting me at the end of the week are warmth and sun.  I know it’s a privilege that years ago, in the thick of baby raising and life making, I only dreamed about.

Now, in my doddering older age, I get to frolic for a time.  So digging out cars, navigating snow dumps and summoning the energy it takes to meet the winter are temporary hurdles.  This too shall pass.

Do you suppose it’s too much to ask that it be melted by the time I get home?

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