The last day of February. Zoom, gone. One more day closer to Spring. Yeaaaah.
Winter lays the heaviest dang carpet of snow on the Earth. It’s so wet, it’s nearly impossible to shovel. So, I don’t and hope my car barrels through the mess, which it has been so far.
This kind of snow makes for good snowman. I saw some kids down the street making a fort and another an igloo of some sort. And two little snowwomen with a red scarfs and some goofy hat, protecting the driveway. Kids love this kinda wetness. I sure did. All wet and shivering, blue lipped and proud of the snow sculpture in the front yard.
I use to make snow ponies. Me and Cathy, my alley neighbor, would build our horses next to her garage; we’d polish them down to make them like ice sculpture, give them faces, and wrap cord around them like a halter and reins, cover them with blankets and pretend we were riding them like cowgirls. We froze our asses off sitting there in all our pretend, having so much fun. We were so proud of our ponies.
After more than an hour of being cold and happy, our teeth clattering in our mouthes, we’d come in to one of houses to sip on coco to warm up. These memories make the dense wet of this snow and all the branches down, messing up yards and cars, seem trivial to the joy of bundling up and building my pony in Cathy’s yard all those decades ago. I will gather and hold these treasures of memory when I feel the rise of complain pushing at my edges.
Gather the blizzard
Build the Snow Pony to ride