I watch them with close eyes. The first big snow has fallen; that magical snow. As they fall to the ground, bellies down, pressed against snowflakes and crunchy fallen leaves, and roll around without a care in the world, pure happiness splayed across their frozen little faces, I breathe out and settle into the moment.
Suddenly what comes to my mind is a visual of my hands wet with earthy clay, spinning, feeling. Older and more wrinkly, my hands, perhaps. Then my mind reeled back to an article I recently read about a four day cheese making course at a farm in Vermont. As I read I could almost see myself arriving there, ready to learn, needy for a tiny morsel of time to remind myself that I am still me.
A brewing fight over snow shovels and flying snowballs brings me back to the present. Before taking one step forward in my mama-shoes I make a promise to myself. I will find a local pottery class. I will pack my bags and head to a farm and learn a new skill. Maybe even in Vermont.
As I crouch on the frozen earth looking up at Theo and Sully as the mediator, mother, friend, I see perfect snowflakes frozen on their eyelashes. Heavenly little promises. Yes, I whisper to myself, I will get there.
