Remnants of snow, with a side of spring.

As kids, we understood the joy of snow.

As grownups, we too often see snow as a burden, something to be removed, shoved aside, and avoided.

Last night, I took a walk in the snow, and remembered the joy.

The flakes were just beginning to fall as I headed up the hill for the Ash Wednesday service at our church. By the time I headed back home, snow had muffled the parking lot. While others began the chore of sweeping off their cars, I simply walked off into the snow globe.

At the top of the hill I stopped near a street lamp, just to watch. The flakes caught the light and rode the wind, swirling by the thousands.

I walked on and listened. Snowflakes are so small, it seems impossible that one could make a sound, but together, they make a soft, whispery chorus. 

In the distance, a passing train added a wistful chord.

Now and then a car passed and kind drivers asked if I wanted a ride home. 

"No, thank you. I'm good," I said.

I didn't have miles to go before I slept, just a few more blocks. But I'm glad I traveled by foot, and stopped, on that snowy evening.

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A few months ago I joined the choir at church, quite a brain-expanding experience. Our choir director recently brought in some poetry recordings for us to listen to, including Robert Frost reading "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." 

It's clear I was inspired.