It’s the coldest day of winter thus far, but that doesn’t phase me as I step into the oncoming snowstorm drifting inland. I am eager to get outside, shovel and breathe in the freshness of snow.
Call this folly, call this whatever you want; it doesn’t matter. Shovel in hand, I scratch my ergonomic blue plastic shovel across the sixty year old driveway accumulating frozen particles to dump on my arctic collection already piled in the yard. I am so invigorated by the fresh air that I don’t feel the chill start to cling to my pant leg. After a sprinkling of salt, I move on to the north deck and its foot of snow drifts.
As I round the house, a 14 mph west wind greets me, blowing snow into my face, where shallow breaths and sticking nostrils begin to form. I continue my morning workout, pushing and hauling snow through and over railings onto the powder below. Heavy, it falls poofing into a collection of more snow, intermittently dancing like dust, swirling like a magical story being told.