Winter Labyrinth

In my yard, I create a triple square labyrinth, linking three squares with one meandering path. I lay red ropes on freshly fallen snow. Some ropes are parallel, some are perpendicular. Others intersect or terminate, leaving a gap, or portal, to a parallel yet opposite path.

It is a clear, cold, sunny day. The snow is bright, shining in my eyes. My breath comes in icy clouds as I crouch down and align each rope just so. I then press them into the snow. All the while, I adapt the labyrinth design to the uneven ground, navigating around a bush and near the base of a tree, and even angling down a gentle slope.

At times, my perspective shifts and I sense that the angles are all askew or the paths are alternating incorrectly. Perplexed, I study my labyrinth drawing and everything seems to snap into place. I then extend a metal measuring tape, which helps me adjust the ropes so they are straight.

Building a labyrinth is both a creative endeavor and a mental exercise. The process is a meditation and a puzzle to be solved.

When the labyrinth finally comes together, the experience is magic. Sunlight sparkles on snow, and shiny rope—like red licorice—creates a dazzling display. I then walk the labyrinth like a fairy flitting along the winding path of a wintry wonderland.

For all that is,