Two small girls scooped up handfuls of wet snow from the ground. The snow condensed quickly into hard, marble-sized balls. The girls pulled snow from the blades of grass and still-green leaves around them and padded it onto their infant snowballs, then rolled them along the ground. The frosty mess, you could hardly call it snow, failed to stick. Typical, Washington DC. snowfall — just enough to snarl traffic, not enough to provide winter fun. The girls tossed the balls at a tree. The snow splattered, dissipating into nothingness.

In the office building across from the park, Anna moved from the window to take her seat with a half-dozen colleagues. Joanna, the team leader who had convened the meeting gestured toward a flip chart with her felt marker, beseeching her silent audience to contribute ideas to relieve its blankness. Curt, the newest and youngest team member sputtered, “Let’s have a brainstorming retreat.”

“That’s a good idea, Curt,” Joanna wrote RETREAT in large letters. “Any other ideas?”

The team members looked at their phones. Anna wanted to help her boss — Joanna was an earnest person, wanting to do the right thing, but not clear as to what she sought to accomplish. Something about giving the organization a new direction.

“Let’s define what we want to achieve,” Anna said, conscious of her cliched speeches. “Then we can outline ways to achieve it.”

“Brilliant, Anna.” She wrote OBJECTIVE on the next line. “Now, what is that objective?” The team members groaned. The snow had turned to rain, streaking the windows. “Okay, I guess we are tired. Let’s reconvene in the morning.”

They gathered their coats. Anna patted Joanna on the arm. “Want to get a drink?”

Joanna shook her head. “I have to fetch the kids from school. But thanks for that. And for trying. See you tomorrow.”

The rain thickened, coating the sidewalk between the bus-stop and Anna’s apartment building near Foggy Bottom like glaze on a raspberry tart. She slept to a gentle pattering on the balcony and woke to unusual stillness. No grumble of the Tuesday morning garbage truck, no rush of early commuter traffic. Draped in heavy snow, the trees bent towards the white ground, creating a shield against worldly sounds. Anna turned on the local radio station, knowing even before she heard the announcer, that schools would be closed. Her phone blinked with a text message. “I have to stay home with the kids. Could postpone the meeting, but need to get the recommendations up the chain by Thursday. Can you lead it? Thx Joanna.”

Anna drank her coffee and contemplated Joanna’s message. What a hopeless task. Her mind was as blank as the pages of the flip chart. But she’d just do what she had to. They’d brainstorm. Write a report. It would sit on the boss’ desk forgotten. Meanwhile, they’d continue their mindless activities, until someone else got charged with the idea of setting a new direction. “Sure, I’ll chair.”

Curt was already in the meeting room, looking out the window, when Anna came in. “So, you’re the stuck-ee, I take it.”

Anna tried to say something upbeat, like this was a great opportunity to make needed change, but only a sigh emerged from her mouth. “Yeh, I get it. But, look, what else is there to do today? Unlike those kids below, we can’t go out and play in the snow.” She walked over to the window. The same two little girls she saw yesterday jumped over snowdrifts. One wore a felt hat with mouse ears, the other a multi-colored knit one with a pom-pom that bounced with each skipping step. It seemed to occur to both children simultaneously that they could try again to make a snowperson. The snow was the right consistency, with the potential to create large, sturdy structures. Decades ago in the midwest where the snow was more reliable, Anna and her father had built a wall of snowballs along the sledding slope near the river, then challenged each other to sled as close as possible to the wall without charging into it. Her mother had been terrified and yanked Anna off the sled. She never forgave her mother for depriving her of the opportunity to prove her skill to her father.

Jason, Annemarie and Georgina had taken seats at the back of the room. “Mina’ll be here in a minute. She’s in the bathroom drying out her socks.” “Okay, we’ll give her a few more minutes. There could be more coming.” Anton entered, followed by a damp-haired Tatiana, then Mina.

Anna stood by the flip chart, black felt marker in hand. Books about writing advised against letting the blank sheet terrorize you, so she didn’t flip over to a clean sheet. She poised the marker below her yesterday’s nonsense about objectives. “Anyone care to take a stab at defining our objective?”

“Raising productivity.”

“But to accomplish what?”

“Change the world,” the group giggled.

“Ok, I can’t say you’re not thinking big enough.” Anna drew a delta sign followed by a lopsided world. “But maybe we could be a bit more detailed?”

Tatiana raised her hand. “Eliminate poverty. Climate friendly. I mean, we could start with our company. A fund for needy employees. Improve sick-leave benefits.”

“No more plastic cups.”

“More working from home.”

The team members shouted out suggestions, some outlandishly unrealistic, most concrete and practical. Organizational changes, out-reach initiatives, voluntary activities, coordination with other organizations. Anna couldn’t write quickly enough. “Let’s take a small break, while I catch up. Curt, can you help me remember all the ideas?”

The girls in the park were struggling to lift a second large snowball onto the first one. Another child tumbled off the swings into the snow and scrambled over to the girls. Together they easily hoisted the ball and began to create another one.

Anna’s colleagues came back into the room, along with someone she didn’t know. Annemarie introduced them as Josh and Martina from the human resources and procurement departments. “I figured if we were going to recommend changes in administration, we’d better involve the people who would have to implement them.”

When Anna ran out of the flip chart pages, Curt continued the notes on his laptop. By lunchtime, they had a solid outline for a restructuring of the company. “Should we order in some food? A pizza?”

“Not very climate-friendly, is it?”

“Right, let’s walk across the park to the small Italian grill.”

Three headless snow people, at least six feet tall, stood amidst the group of children now numbering at least a dozen. Three smaller balls, presumably the heads, were stacked to the side, while the children continued to roll up additional balls.

“We aren’t tall enough to put the heads on,” they said to Curt. “We’re waiting until our parents come outside.”

“We can help.” Curt set a head neatly on the top of a snow figure. Jason and Anna followed with the other two heads.

“Photo op!” Mina hailed a passer-by and handed him her phone, while the children and the team grouped around the trio of snow people. “Beautiful! Make sure you share it.”

That evening, Anna struggled to write a summary for Joanna that conveyed the enthusiasm and creativity of the meeting. It was the first time in her working life she felt something other than exhaustion after a day talking to colleagues. Maybe this is what it feels to start a revolution. As her fingers hovered over the phone to send the dry report to Joanna, Mina’s photo popped up. The children grinned proudly into the camera. The adults smiled like members of a happy family, celebrating a milestone in their lives. The three snowpeople looked on knowingly. The report could wait. She forwarded the photo instead.