Monday, January 10, 2011
"The moon on the face of the new-fallen snow, gave a luster of mid-day to objects below." Thus says Clement C. Moore in a Visit from St. Nicolas. I've always loved that line. It so completely captures how I felt this morning at 4:30 a.m. as I stood among the sparkles filling my driveway and smoothing the lines of the suburban neighborhood where I live.
It was so still I was not about to try to start the snow-blower, even if I had total confidence that my repairs of yesterday afternoon would be effective.
I love the stillness, when it's not too cold and the wind is light or absent. It is so beautiful, so peaceful. And in the stillness this morning, I realized something: this was another moment of functional fitness. I am not intimidated by the white stuff. I can wield this shovel! I can clear this property... just me, my trusty shovel, and my 58-year-old muscles!
It was so still I was not about to try to start the snow-blower, even if I had total confidence that my repairs of yesterday afternoon would be effective.
I love the stillness, when it's not too cold and the wind is light or absent. It is so beautiful, so peaceful. And in the stillness this morning, I realized something: this was another moment of functional fitness. I am not intimidated by the white stuff. I can wield this shovel! I can clear this property... just me, my trusty shovel, and my 58-year-old muscles!
This, ladies and gents, is why I work out. So that I can do what needs doing, when it needs doing. Whether that's running up ten flights of stairs to evade a fire in a tall building, or simply making our neighborhood safe for dog-walkers.
And in the process, we might get a poetic treat or two, in the muffled stillness, amid the sparkling new snow.
And in the process, we might get a poetic treat or two, in the muffled stillness, amid the sparkling new snow.
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