Last Conga in a Snow Labyrinth

I love blizzards because they turn my thoughts to romance, most often of the go out and play variety. To walk the labyrinth is considered a form of meditation. The temporary nature of snow adds an extra element of mystery to the labyrinth, a connection to nature and the fundamental ecological concept of leaving nothing but footprints.

We set down the pattern and worked with two shovels to scoop away the snow and reveal green grass pathways inside a heart shape. Yeah! Yeah! A little romantic clinch never made a person more than gag.

We played a game of Foxes and Bunnies remembered from childhood. The fox can only take inner paths and the bunny can only take the perimeter. The fox tries to catch the bunny where the two paths cross. The object of the game is for the bunny to not get caught. I preferred the opposite objective and when I was caught, we waltzed for a moment, and then I took off on a bunny hop and was grabbed at the waist to turn it into a conga instead. My right foot stuck in a 13-inch snow drift at one of the turns and down we went.
“Your cheeks are all pink and so are your lips. Kissable.” And there it was the spark of spontaneous romance.

I never knew a labyrinth could inspire so many future memories. The day after the blizzard the sun came out to melt away the evidence.

THE END

We Woke up to a Snowy Day

Nature provides some naturally fun toys. Fluffy flakes and mild temperatures create perfect sticky snow conditions for building snow sculptures. Bundled up in thermal outerwear with gloves and hats my honey and I ventured out into the snow to play instead of getting straight to work.

My first attempt to roll a ball resulted in some clumping, but not enough accumulation to make a snowman. The snow wasn't yet damp enough to pack well. Time for some old-fashioned ingenuity. I flopped flat on my back and swung my arms and legs back and forth to create the indentation of a snow angel. Then I raided the kitchen for blows and molds to create snow blocks and a squirt bottle with water to help with the stickiness.

We piled blocks one on top of the other like laying masonry and the still falling snow was more wet to make an ideal mortar. My honey formed a small fort and I stacked the snow almost four feet tall to make a tomten (a Scandinavian elf that helps with chores and has a special affinity for animals). I used a garden trowel to carve the pointy hat, facial features including a beard and carved one arm raided to wave Hello. We neither helped each other or competed.

"Can you pass me the big bowl?"

"May I use the trowel?"

We worked side-by-side in companionship. He finished first and went indoors to make cocoa. I used the extra time to make a snow puppy to keep the tomten company. My honey came back outside, wrapped his arms around me and rubbed our noses together in what people call an Eskimo kiss. He charmed me to catch me off-guard long enough to rub a handful of snow in my face. Oh my, I wasn't taking that without a snowball fight.

Once thoroughly soaked and starting to chill we went inside to change into something warm and dry and sip the cocoa he made with cinnamon. Aren't the best dates really just a good excuse to cuddle anyway?

THE END