If you really want to know how to land snorkel take a toddler for a walk. They are made for cruising at ground level like a catfish snuffling on a river bottom. Going at toddler pace – run, trot, run, stop, squat – my granddaughter pointed at a red dot moving along a blade of grass. I had to get down close to the ground, a belly flop in the meadow, as she squatted and peered at this iridescent insect in minutia. I picked a blade of grass and laid it between my thumbs, pulling tight, and blew, a pterodactyl scream that echoed in the draw. She laughed as she handed me blades of grass one at a time and then fistfuls that we threw in the air, grass blades raining on our head. We weren’t the only ones making spring music. She pointed in the direction of the pond. Peepers. A robin. Then a screech and we looked at the red-tail hawk circling above us. Then, a splash of crocus on the hillside set her toddler legs in motion as we gathered purple flowers to take home to mom. As we trudged up the hill I pointed to our shadows. I waved. Cora waved. Our shadows waved. We jumped, our shadows jumped. She trotted up the hill, stopped and pointed at her shadow. Then, she spontaneously started singing and waving her arms, lifting one leg, then the other, swerving and swaying, swing your shadow ’round and ’round! And I joined them, Cora and our shadows and we danced our way home.