This Sunday morning I opened the door to the yard

and was welcomed by a green bubble of perfection

frozen in sun-tickled frost. Every blade of grass, every

rotten-brown leaf on the ground, every surviving weed and 

every naked branch engulfed, sealed in seamlessly by the

sheerest layer of milky glitter – sparkling brightly, twinkling, 

scintillating in the clear-cut cold of a day’s toddler years. 

We – the little dog and I – flew down the steps and dove

head-first into that yard with childlike delight and every 

step the little dog took, and then every step I took with him,

crackled under our feet (his a tiny crackle and mine a huge 

crackle); crushing under us monumental worlds of crystallized 

Love the vastness of which will be forever too sublime 

for us mortals to understand even the half of it. 

We

are lucky if we may feel the slightest tinge, a mere glimpse of 

the fundamental goodness of a happy heart when treading 

on such sacred ground and our steps – for once – crackle.