Even with the slightest bit of snow the village children have climbed the hill beside my house with the intent to slide down. The torn old strings of their worn old sleds are tied around their wrists as the drag the plastic tabagon upward and then ride it downward again. They laugh and they scream and they smile with joy. The drivers are aware of the "big hill" road and try to avoid it so that the little ones can have a place to play. Their little Eskimo hearts were born for the snow. Dressed in their little parkas with the fluffy village pups following them about. Barely an inch remains in the brightness of the sun, yet even such a miniscule amount can hold hours of treasured fun for the little ones here. It takes a special person to see the light amongst the dark cold long winters of the arctic. But with sledding children outside your window it's quite practically impossible not to be an optimist.
