Childs Play

My Snow Angel

The morning appears with a fresh thick blanket of new fallen snow, so pure and white that it sparkles.

I debate with myself. Now would be the time to do this before I am witnessed.

Fool! Why the need to lay yourself down? Who will pull these old bones up from that cold embrace?

I don ski pants, jacket, warm thick mittens and slide my feet quickly into stiff boots. Determined. The snow is like sifted flour as I lean back and make my fall. I wildly windmill my arms and legs up and down, back and forth. Making it perfect in ways only I can make happen.

I stop, gazing at the breaching sun, realizing I was given this moment to be a child once again. To create my Snow Angel.