Snowshoeing at Midnight

On the night of a full moon in February, my friend Ingrid and I strapped on snowshoes and walked through the woods behind her cabin in Minnesota. No flashlights. We didn't need them.

The moon on the snow made the whole forest glow blue-white, bright enough to read by. Every branch had a shadow. The only sound was the crunch of our snowshoes and, once, an owl calling from far away.

We walked for an hour. We didn't talk much. At the top of a small hill, we stopped and looked out over the frozen lake, silver and endless under the moon.

Ingrid said, "This is my favorite thing in the whole world." I said, "I can see why." Then we lay down in the snow and made snow angels, two grown women, giggling like children, in the middle of the night.