we remain forever playful. Together with our white landscape, we grow creative. Under heavy clouds, we sled on. On left behind cardboard, we glide downwards. Deep into frostiness, we transform an unsmiling, barren and frozen scene into motion. On glistening snow, more sunbeams to hold. In every one of our cells, more photonic light grows. It’s ours to have and to hold. I’m wired even after numerous hikes up the hill. Anyone else feeling it?