After a moment's hesitation -- nay, temptation -- I donned the snow bibs, turtleneck, wool socks, boots, scarf, hat, mittens...
and I shoveled snow for two hours.
Placid, quietly talking to myself(?), I had developed a smooth, meditative rhythm which I did not notice until the High Priest came out to assist. I watched his short, rapid, economical movements in stark contrast to my long, paced, sinuous dragging. He was deeply invested in efficiency. He was there to remove snow. I recognized then that I was not. I was there to be with the snow. I was visiting in Snow territory. My aim was immersion: What is required to learn the quiet language of Snow?
The family reappeared not long after the High Priest had joined me & they all wielded shovels, making quick work of the very large lot. I suppose I could have felt deflated by the fact that they out-shoveled me in less than half the time...
but I was utterly satisfied.
|A gratuitous photo of fungi & snow.|
(Because I cannot help myself.)