We missed out on snow this time around, and the rain didn't amount to much, either. But I had to go up onto our deck first thing this morning and clean off the snow that was still there. Took me over an hour I guess. There was a lot of it -- a good foot deep, and the stuff was heavy. For a while, a peregrine falcon -- quite drenched -- kept me company. I have to say that I enjoyed myself. I kept thinking that, if I had my life to live over again, I just might want to be a laborer. It suppose it doesn't pay all that well, and I guess it doesn't garner much respect, either -- though that would change the moment we found ourselves without laborers. But it felt great, and there is something about it that wondrously clears the mind of all distractions. Oh, I know. I liked it precisely because it was an occasional thing, not something I had to face day in, day out, which would surely take the edge off the charm. But I have had jobs working with my hands. I did a lot of construction work back in the '70s, and I loved it. (Does anyone these days remember Eric Hoffer?)
I confess I was impressed with myself. I could do the work steadily. My heart rate still seems to go back to normal very quickly. I felt great when I was done. That was a few hours ago, so I guess this old guy is still in pretty good shape (touch wood).