"Thomas, why does it have to snow?"
"Terry, can you concentrate on the job?"
Thomas and Terry were deep in the drift, very allegorical, thought Thomas, very difficult, thought Terry. Their big red plastic snow shovels picked up more snow than they could possibly lift at a go so each had to gauge the amount on their shovels as they continued to pile last night's snow fall into a pig of a pile next to their house.
Terry thought their Dad would yell about the pile leaking into the foundations and Thomas admired the pile for it's crytalline beauty but both of them carried on with the work despite all distractions and the arduousness of the task itself.
You understand, they had a compulsion, they'd been hypnotized by all that deafening silence during the night as it came down and down and down on their house.
Thomas and Terry, like all internet kids, were precocious 12 year olds, familiar with the first council of Nicaea's major participants and could speak disturbingly knowledgeably about the great disagreements of the early church fathers. They had read Julius Caesar and knew the difference between a synoptic gospel and a plenoptic camera.
All this didn't stop them from indulging in childhood adventures like building up a pile of snow on their front lawn until it met the roof and then snowboarding all the way down.
Terry went first.
"Terry! Are you okay?"
"I...I think I broke my arm Thomas,"
"vos nunquam opto pondera."
"Shut up Thomas!"