minutes later he was strapping them to his feet on the front porch。 His daddy
had told him that he （Danny） had the hang of using the snowshoes — the lazy；
shuffling stride； the twist of ankle that shook the powdery snow from the
lacings just before the boot came back down — and all that remained was for him to
build up the necessary muscles in his thighs and calves and ankles。 Danny found
that his ankles got tired the fastest。 Snowshoeing was almost as hard on your
ankles as skating； because you had to keep clearing the lacings。 Every five
minutes or so he had to stop with his legs spread and the snowshoes fat on the
snow to rest them。
But he didn't have to rest on his way down to the playground because it was
all downhill。 Less than ten minutes after he struggled up and over the monstrous
snow…dune that had drifted in on the Overlook's front porch he was standing with
his mittened hand on the playground slide。 He wasn't even breathing hard。
The playground seemed much nicer in the deep snow than it ever had during the
autumn。 It looked like a fairyland sculpture。 The swing chains had been frozen
in strange positions； the seats of the big kids' swings resting flush against
the snow。 The jungle gym was an ice…cave guarded by dripping icicle teeth。 Only
the chimneys of the play…Overlook stuck up over the snow
（wish the other one was buried that way only not with us in it）
and the tops of the cement rings protruded in two places like Eskimo igloos。
Danny tramped over there； squatted； and began to dig。 Before long he had
uncovered the dark mouth of one of them and he slipped into the cold tunnel。 In
his mind he was Patr