After 24 hours of watching still more snow fall, even my hibernation-loving self needed to get outside. I tramped around the field in my snowshoes, sinking deep with every step. I trimmed some forsythia to bring inside. I stood on top of one of the snow plow mounds to admire the view from waaaay up there.

Then, I tried to stomp out the shape of a giant snowflake in a flat part of the field.  One branch of the flake, pretty good. Two branches, zipping right along. On the third branch I turned, cris crossed the snowshoes, and fell flat on my back, waving my arms like a turtle who can’t flip over.

My first response was embarrassment over my lack of prowess, and annoyance at the now-flawed design. My creative vision was ruined! And maybe more importantly, my backside was cold and wet. (Then again, who is actually skilled at making giant snowshoe pictures? I blame the Olympics, making all that sliding around look graceful and natural.)

Suddenly I saw myself from above, helplessly wriggling about in the middle of all that whiteness, and with the next breath I was laughing and laughing. I made a little snow angel, fought my way upright, and was quickly hot cocoa-bound (which of course is the main point of going outdoors in winter anyway).

Dear ones, may we find new ways to play.

May we cling a little less tightly to winning.

May we savor the sweetness that follows.