SNOW ANGEL

I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.

D.H. Lawrence

Out before hardly any light, even the birds were startled from their nests in the pines while my boots trudged by in over a foot of fresh snow that keeps falling. My heart was pumping so much one lap was as if twenty!

And then? Dropping down flat looking up at the early morning dark blue against white, a snow angel. Not the best, but mine.

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