That’s what I call them — snow sticks.  If you live anywhere where it snows consistently in the winter, you could notice these  3-foot-long, luminescent fiberglass rods on parking lot curbs and sidewalk edges.  They get planted, usually in November, when the grass is still green and leaves are still dropping.  The day you notice them can be sad.  Yes– winter and huge snow piles will be back again soon.

The purpose is obvious:  You’re driving a snow plow in a pre-dawn, snow-blind, haze. Cough syrup and coffee are duking it out in your central nervous system.  Your contract SLA stipulates this giant corporate parking lot must be clean before employees begin to arrive at 6:30 a.m.  When you pull in it’s a smooth, shapeless, almost endless field of white — except for the Tinkerbell-size glow of the snow sticks.

We haven’t had a lot of snow [yet] this year.  The sticks are more visible again thanks to a recent 35-degree high.  Yesterday I thought about what I use as my own snow sticks. One is a short song (poem) by  Thich Nhat Hanh.

I have arrived; I am home.
In the here, in the now.
I am solid; I am free.
In the ultimate, I dwell.

I recite it slowly, on each breath, several times.  It is a Walking Meditation.  I find it especially useful when my thoughts are bullet trains and I just — can’t — get an objective point-of-view of my mind.  Frequently the first line triggers enough release that brings tears.  Relief.  Perspective.  Reminder that I am not my thoughts.

Reminder that I am.  I have snow sticks to help me.