The plow rumbled down the road first thing this morning pushing snow into drifts. Later, we came out with shovels and blowers to dig for access to the cleared roads and to the comings and goings that comprise our days. Fresh snowfall heightens my awareness of our comings and goings.
Each day we make our way. We brew some coffee. We read from a book. We paint a bathroom. We visit a familiar place, walk with a friend, give shape to some thoughts. We toil. We tend. We watch birds flit to the feeder outside the window by the floral chair.
Routines and movements mark our days like footprints in the snow. Our footprints pile up as days become months, then seasons. And after a sufficient number of seasons have passed we find we’ve formed a path that we can call “another year”.
It’s snowing now. The birds leave footprints on the stoop near the feeders. Their steps line up to tell a story of where they were. Then their prints come to an abrupt end, telling the story of flight. The dogs I live with make purposeful trails in the snow from the deck, around the garage where they pee. Or they make big playful loops in the yard with their paws when the neighbor’s dog comes out to chase.
In the year ahead, as we press our bodies to the earth each day, may we be so wild as to integrate the heft of hard work with the levity of play. And in so doing may we find the strength to take steps that make way for better futures.