While snowshoeing or ice-fishing might be considered
the more contemplative winter sports practices,
I am prepared to make a case for snowmobiling.

On Saturday, I enjoyed a two hour run
in a generational convoy with my brother, my dad, my oldest nephew.

It is noisy.
So is the world.
Yet there is something about the snugness of a helmet
that contains future anxiety and past musing.

And there is the leaning.
I was riding with David
so first, I leaned when he leaned
trying to be helpful.
Then there is a a trinity of trail, machine and rider
and you just lean.
Such oneness I desire for all of life’s motions.

And there is the beauty.
We stop
turn off the engine, motor (whatever?)
and there is stillness.
And far from highway and human activity
there is just softly curved beauty
close up and far off
and seeing with the whole heart.

And there is the sacrament of pink peppermints
drawn from a deep pocket
and shared around.

Have I made my point?
If spiritual practice is presence, leaning into life, beauty, and sweet community
snowmobiling is it.

And it is fun, too.