Last night when I went out under the dark sky to shovel, snow was falling gently. Wind swirled once in awhile and settled again. I fell into a shoveling trance, listening with my body as well as my ears to the rhythm of scrape and toss, scrape and toss, accompanied by the crunch of my boots. I was reminded of the Billy Collins poem, "Shoveling Snow with Buddha," especially this part:

"He has thrown himself into shoveling snow
as if it were the purpose of existence,
as if the sign of a perfect life were a clear driveway
you could back the car down easily
and drive off into the vanities of the world
with a broken heater fan and a song on the radio."

The more I am absorbed in whatever I am doing, the more I loosen up and find God there.