The first winter we lived here in Franklin, it snowed. And I was sick. I had a fever and had to stay in my bed. We were living at the Inn and my third floor bedroom overlooked the hill. I loved the view from my frosty window. Then the other children started sledding. Their joyous rides left my pristine hill scarred. I was partly jealous of the fun they were having while I was stuck in bed, but I was even more upset that their fun ruined my real life Christmas card view. I was selfish, an adolescent trait I like to think I've outgrown.

Today I took my kids and my sister out in the snow. We had about 10 inches of powdery fluff covering our backyard. It was untouched and beautiful. And they left it scarred and pock-marked. I forewent the sledding and instead watched them pile in and tumble out, squealing and giggling. And I realized I was grinning. Like an idiot. (Despite the lack of feeling in my extremities.)

I just started writing this, hoping that the theme would come to me while I typed. It didn't. Maybe it's about the joy in life's messes. Maybe it's about finding fulfillment in the happiness of others. Maybe it's just about snow.