Ode to a snow shovel

A couple of Minnesotans we know sent a card from the Virgin Islands noting that they were not having a white Christmas for a change but a parboiled one. We opened it just after doing enough sidewalk shoveling to remind us that Massachusetss is not in the Caribbean. Light snow it was, however, and somehow we didn't wholly envy our friends in the sunshine.

For there's something satisfying about that smooth scrape of the shovel under snow that is fresh and lifts up cleanly and doesn't demand any chipping of ice.

The air seems clearer.

The bark of a passing dog seems higher fidelity -- no, no, not Fidolity!

The widening pathway seems of greater artistic merit.

The call to supper seems more delicious.

Ah, yes, snow shoveling makes us go all romantic.

Once a year anyway.

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