A humorous reflection on a snowy morning, balancing beauty, laziness, and life’s little lessons, with a funny nod to my sarcastic wife.

This morning, I stepped outside, and the winter air hit me like an icy slap to the face. It must have been around -9 degrees Celsius—not that I checked, but my numb nose and ears confirmed it was cold enough to freeze any lingering morning cheer.

Snow had been falling on and off since yesterday, blanketing my front yard in white. The scene was magical, like a pristine canvas painted by nature. The long shadows of the bare tree stretched across the snow, giving it an artistic touch. For a moment, I stood there, mesmerized, imagining blue butterflies fluttering over the scene. Isn’t it strange how something so simple, like untouched snow, can feel like a piece of art?

But then reality sank in. The doorstep was buried, the walkway was covered, and someone (me) had to clean it. That someone, unfortunately, wasn’t in the mood. Cleaning up snow feels like erasing nature’s beauty. It’s like being handed a masterpiece and told, “Now ruin it with a shovel.” My heart ached, but my conscience whispered, “Clear the walkway, or someone might slip, fall, and sue you.”

So, with a heavy heart, I grabbed the snow shovel. The moment my bare hand touched the handle, I dropped it like it was a live wire. That thing was so cold, it might as well have been -200°C. After shaking off the shock, I reluctantly cleaned only the walkway, sparing the rest of the yard. Why ruin the masterpiece when a simple path would do? (At least that’s what I told myself to justify my laziness.)

As I stood back to admire my “effort,” I smiled. The untouched snow on the front yard still looked like a winter wonderland. And more importantly, it gave me a perfect excuse to escape into my thoughts. My wife, who is not only the funniest person I know but also the queen of sarcasm, often teases me about my philosophical escapes. Whenever she starts roasting me about my “selective energy” for cleaning, I look out the window at the snow and say, “This is my Zen garden. Shoveling it entirely would disturb the balance of the universe.”

Of course, she laughs and calls me ridiculous, but there’s a little truth to my excuse. Snow teaches us something. It reminds us to pause and appreciate beauty in its raw form. It tells us that not everything needs to be fixed or cleaned up right away. Sometimes, it’s okay to just let things be.

By the end of my “snow adventure,” I felt both accomplished and lazy at the same time. The walkway was clear, the yard’s beauty was preserved, and I had yet another escape route from my wife’s sarcastic quips. A win-win, don’t you think?