This morning I woke up to a skiff of snow, and admittedly wished for more. I came home from the gym, shoved snow boots on my two year old and we shoveled that skiff off our driveway, not because I had too, but because I wanted to connect with a love that has provided me such joy for as long as I can remember. My daughter and I walked the block in our snow boots, it's fun to see her try to figure it out. To stomp it, slip on it, and gingerly walk the sidewalks. Her cold rosy cheeks warmed my heart. I took a deep breath and inhaled a cold refreshing thought, the thought that everything was, one day, going to be okay. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be today, but it will, one day.
With all that snow has given me, it once again, displayed its generosity, as it gave me hope. I realized while some things in life are ever-changing, snow is not. It will come every winter, guaranteed. It may come way too late, or way too early. There may be too much, or not enough, but there will be snow and where there is snow, there is hope.