Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Tonight I watched as my son and his friends engaged in a good old-fashioned snowball fight after their basketball practice. One of the dads threw a couple himself before settling in his car, joining me in our own silent remembrance of a snow-filled youth.
Hands and cheeks turned red as laughter and snow filled the air, and the clouds from this morning dissipated into golden twilight. A friend of my son's came home with us to continue their play,
and our porch was filled with its wet aftermath. Soaked jeans and shoes
were traded for warmth and coziness as new games took place in the comfort of home.
There is something magical about snow. It's beauty and peacefulness captures me anew each time it encapsulates our world. Though the heavily coated branches had shed their snowy cloaks by late this evening, their wooded webs still seemed to frame and embrace its frozen land.
As dusk settled on my beloved prairie, and another day came to a gentle end, I looked across the vastness all around me and was thankful for a warm house, the laughter that fills my world each day and the place on this land - and in my heart - that I call home.