It’s been a couple weeks now since the big eastern US snowstorm, but I’d swear that each original flake is still here, plus lots of their friends. Every outing is a tiny adventure. 

The other day as I tromped home from the grocery store with my overflowing bags, I hit a patch of ice and found myself suddenly airborne. Then I skidded on my knees across an alleyway full of potholes, surrounded by flying blueberries. Friends, it was not elegant.

Before I could even register what had happened, three construction workers dropped the heavy materials they were carrying and rushed to help me up. Another passerby retrieved my scattered groceries and bundled them together, before I had even arisen.

The next day, a kid in front of me went sliding across the pathway at the park, and all who were near ran to them, as automatically as the kid’s own family. At the next corner, a man hesitated at the particularly blocked-up intersection, and two others easily took his arm to help him cross as the traffic waited, miraculously honk-free.

Dear ones, we will all find our feet swept out from under us at times.

May we be surrounded by helpers when we stumble.

May we rush to cushion others as they slide.