Winter in Illinois is tough. It’s cold. They skies remain grey. The wind whips. And it snows.
Snow is actually a consolation. I’m happy during a snow storm and for about five hours following.
Ice is not a consolation.
Snow is beautiful. It is soft. It deadens sound. It reflects light. It can be moved with a shovel.
Ice can be beautiful. It’s beautiful in the same way a cocktail of arsenic is.
I hate ice. It fights back. It laughs in the face of a snow shovel and then breaks it.
I am never happy when ice is around–not even during the storm.
And yet, as I shovel my driveway, I choose to focus on the snow.
I’m grateful to have a driveway, a garage, and not have to put a chair on a parking space bought with the sweat of my brow only to have it stolen.
Attitude is they key. Even ice can be dealt with as long as you choose to focus on what beauty may be found.