When we first moved to Chicago in the summer, we pretty much played tennis every day at Oz Park. We played through what I thought was the cold, until it was only a few degrees above OC. We stopped with the first snow.

This week, I took a wander down to Oz Park to see what the park looks like buried under a foot and a half of snow. Most of the walkways hadn’t been ploughed, but most of us could remember where the paths were.

The nets are still up, stoically weathering the long, white winter and the unforgiving winds that blow in off Lake Michigan. But the nets no longer sway in the breeze. They’re held down by the untainted, accumulated snow. Frozen in place.

Eventually, the temperatures will rise and sun will reemerge and warm the surface. The courts will awaken from their hibernation, and once again feel the fuzz of new tennis balls and the squeak of sneakers.

I see these courts, these nets as reminders not to forget. Summer will come again. Just hold tight.