It’s oh so January here in Middle Tennessee. Fluffy, wet packable snow has fallen all week. The kind of snow that makes for dense nose-breaking snowballs. Going for a run every other day has become a real test of will, but I’m holding steady. The frosty plumes of my breaths as I jog along help me imagine I’m a choo-choo train. My wind bitten face reminds me I’m not.
Lucie and I went for a hike down by the river. The ponds in Shelby Bottoms have thin layers of ice on them that still show the greenish cold water beneath. The paths were all covered. The snow creaked and packed beneath our footsteps like we were walking on graham cracker crust.
We rolled a minimalist snowman and secreted him away in a thicket. On the way home, we were hailed by Christine and Justin’s punk rock snowman, looking for a good time.