Snow elicits quiet memories. Nostalgic. |
The children thrilled in the reddening of cheeks, the knit mittens, the footprints which criss-crossed the yard like messy ribbons. I watched from the front step; then I smiled: the cold cracked along the tired latticework of lines on my cheeks. Our home resisted the quiet blanket of ice; the pines drooped under the weight of white snow. There you went, running with the children, covered in delicate flakes which dusted your hat, your scarf, your boots lined with snow. Oh you -- lover, husband, high school sweetheart -- the snow whispered and reminded us both. You blew me a kiss as your footprints forged a path toward me from the evergreens to the patio, which was covered in packed ice. There you stood, falling flakes coating us both -- then you bowed and took my gloved hand, leading me into the soft snow. The children laughed as the dance began: the cheery clump of boots and our breath which breathed out crystals. We warmed our bodies moving in unison with the snow that continued to swirl around us. I remembered the first time we danced, leaving socked footprints in the school gym -- I hummed the song, then felt once more the strong hands that covered mine. A montage of memories: we covered your brother's bicycle in heaps of snow -- then the first mittened touch in the woods -- and that kiss, softly indented against the snow. Our dance ended; we laughed at the footprints left by the stumble of overcoats and age. The memories we both shared, and the communion of our bodies had covered the distance marked by our footprints: childhood to shyness to romance to our love, which rested in the freshly falling snow. We stood as the snow fell faster, and then -- Then the snow covered our footprints. I sighed in mournful remembrance until our children began a snowball fight; then we were covered in this tumble of family, this laughing continuum; this blessing which continued to sprinkle our home with comfort, with snow. I smiled and turned away from the disappearing footprints. |