A thick snow Sunday has smoothed a rugged winter landscape.

Arriving home amid steep drifts covering space cleared by plows and piling the accumulation high, I ram the Bronco through a berm and bump into the yard. My steps like stitches disappear in the wind as I stomp up a buried walk. Opening the front door, I let the dogs out to romp around before closing the door on winter again. A frigid landscape rests beneath a foot of snow.

Up to my knees in the stuff this morning, I trudged along with the dogs. Tossing a stick for Lily, I watch its tumbling arc scrape against pure azure overhead.

Later, a girl on a sled was in focus as I crouched to take her photo. With a wide angle lens against my face, only the sound of plastic sliding along packed snow warned me that she was too close. Jumping just as she crashed into my feet, I went face down in the snow.

A new year waits for me to fill it. I want more for myself -- just a little, day-to-day sense of satisfaction that what I do is worth doing. I know what I mean in a fuzzy way that has no detail yet.