One day when I was five years old, school was let out early because a blizzard was about to overcome our city. The principal of my school released all the children to find their way in the heavy snow foolishly hoping they would make it home before the severe weather arrived.

I walked home through a small field, as I did everyday, except that the blizzard hit as I was entering. I was surrounded by a white blur. The wind was vicious and seemed to bite into my skin. Though loud, the wind seemed quiet since all the normal noises of the neighborhood were drowned out by the roar of the blowing snow. It was not possible to see more than a foot ahead because the falling snow was so thick. I wandered slowly and aimlessly completely in awe of the power of this weather.

The field was completely fenced off so it was not possible for me to get lost, however I was indeed lost as I had no way to tell what direction I was walking in or if I was even walking in a straight line. I could hear, not far from me, another boy crying. He was obviously lost, cold, and frightened. I was, strangely, not scared. I was completely ensconced in the deadly arms of the whipping winds, the impenetrable white, and the bitter cold. It's power was so immense that fear was useless.

My mother had wandered out into the field hoping to find me. I could hear her calling but I didn't answer. She heard the cries of the boy near me and went to him, thinking it was me. Eventually she found me too; if she had not I would have had frost bite or I may even have found permanent refuge in the arms of that storm.

Such cold and deadly storms overcome us throughout our lives. It is pointless to fight them directly or to surrender to their might. If they choose to destroy us we cannot stop them. It is best to proceed fearlessly and go about our tasks without special consideration of the storm. You cannot conquer the winter storm but you can pass through it, and once past its power is inconsequential.