Poem: Playing in the Snow

Morning falls in handfuls of white,
and the world forgets its sharp edges.
We step outside and the cold laughs,
pink-cheeked and honest.

Boots crunch like secrets being told.
Snowballs arc through the air,
small, perfect moons
that break into joy on impact.

Our breath turns visible—
proof we are alive,
dragons for a moment,
roaring without fear.

We carve angels into the ground,
arms and legs flung wide
as if to say yes
to everything.

Time slows, fingers numb,
mittens soaked,
but none of that matters.
The day is simple:
run, fall, laugh, rise.

When we finally go inside,
snow clings to our hems,
refusing to let go,
and winter smiles,
knowing we played it well.

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path,

Brenda Marie