Home. March Break. Winter has swallowed everything. There are no lines left to follow\u2014no sidewalks, no fences, not even memory. Just a vast, unbroken skin of white that muffles all sound and softens the shape of the world. Homes look like sleeping animals under the weight. Doors have disappeared. Paths have vanished. And still the snow falls, steady as breath. It presses down on time. No one speaks of the birds anymore. They will come, yes, someday\u2014returning like forgotten songs\u2014but not now. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now is for the cold silence, for the ache in your hands, for the stubborn ritual of digging. The shovel is your compass. Each lift, each thrust into the frozen mass, a kind of prayer. You carve a way not just forward, but inward\u2014toward resilience, toward the thing that holds you upright even as your eyelashes freeze. The snow keeps secrets, buries old sorrows, preserves the bones of summer\u2019s laughter somewhere far below. The wind, relentless, sings through cracks in the eaves. You move anyway. There is no choice. There is only the rhythm of survival\u2014shovel, breath, shovel, breath\u2014until the shape of the door emerges again from the blankness.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It’s our March break. Time for fishing derbies, short vacations and a breath of fresh air as we wait out the end of winter and the start of spring. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":9,"featured_media":40062,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[237],"tags":[216],"class_list":["post-40061","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fall-winter-2024-2025","tag-2024-5782","entry","has-media"],"yoast_head":"\n