If you pass my front yard on a snowy morning, you might spot a scene straight out of Winnie the Pooh: two bundled figures trudging around and around.
I’m Winnie, the big one in earth tones. My daughter, Lily—smaller, in pink—is Piglet. Our feet are busy stamping the ground with “snow circles,” the cold belt’s answer to crop circles.
I sometimes spend as much as an hour at this. Trudging long after Lily’s school bus has come and gone, I’ll make nine or 10 concentric circles—a frozen target that lasts at most a few days.This may seem silly, but I’m convinced that, now and then, nothing beats and seemingly pointless.