Since moving to Michigan in 1990, snow has been an absolute delight. In Southern California, snow was something you visited, not something that was dumped whole-hog into your back yard.
My wife will tell you that I don't like shoveling the stuff, but I will shovel if that's what comes with having free playdough available 24/7, and the slickest funfest imaginable just outside your basement doors. On a night like last, the moon eclipsed, the snow still bright with its reflection, the bare trees cast a shadow like you have never seen during spring or summer or fall.
Through this white powder the living lay their tracks--turkey, lots of turkey, and mouse and possum and weasel and chickadee. You may not actually see the animal, but you know it's been around.
God, whom to see in person is to die, leaves his tracks in the snow of our lives. If we would be careful to study and identify them, we would know he is there, even when it is hard to.
