Any one who knows me, knows I hate snow.
Having been born in New York and raised in Boston, I have had to travel in this wet, white stuff through school and then work.
Snow ball fights; ten minutes. Snowman; ten minutes. That's it.
And yet, even as a child I knew that snow was also clean and fresh, cleaning the air and its surroundings. It is a new, fresh beginning. For the people of Afghanistan, the snow is a fresh supple of water that the villagers need.
As I sit here, working on this blog, I look outside at snown covered mountains. Such a peaceful scene. I love to put on my jacket and watch the wolves play in the snow. Or take in the peaceful sight before me. At times it feels as if the snow itself is washing away the depression, giving me a fresh view on life.
I'd been in Montana a week.
My body feels lighter, my head clearer. My spirit renewed.
It is also a joy to be with family. We can laugh and talk, share stories about Mark , and with little sister Jay, get into alittle bit of trouble.
I see a snowball fight in my future.
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