Yesterday, I could not even write about the snow. While walking up the snow-covered hill, to give the goats their grain I gazed down at the snow, but tried to ignore the fact that it was real. If I do not acknowledge it, it doesn’t exist. As I walked back down through my tracks, I noticed that the once vibrant yellow dandelion flowers were now buried under the snow, closed blossoms trying to shut out the winter. Just like me.