Shadow

"You can always tell how you're feeling by how your shadow looks."
(Tom Spanbauer, Now is the Hour)

Fluffy snow, no longer lazy, mingling snow. Real and honest to goodness. The kind of snow that whooshes when you push through it. The kind that, no matter how hard you try, sneaks under the cuffs of your pants, climbs down deep into your shoe, settling on the low side of your ankle and refuses to melt. The kind that clings to socks long after you've taken them off and dumped them in the hamper, mad little balls of impossibly stubborn snow hanging off them like burs. The kind of snow that won't let you see much else, even from the top of a hill. Except your shadow. Snow likes shadows as much, if not more, than the moon. Seems snow could hold a shadow almost as long as it takes to melt. God knows I love a sunny day, a bright warm Spring noontime, but I don't think anyone's shadow looks as good as it does on an unblemished field of sparkling snow.

Today I am thankful for snow. And, as always, Duncan leading me through it. We are quite striking out there, trudging and falling, climbing banks, sliding down hills, rolling and laughing. He keeps me young and my perspective clear. As clear as shadow on the snow in the park.