Photograph

         You can almost feel the chill in the air. The plain scenery only broken by the occasional brush and the snow covered soldiers. The sky is a bleak shade of grey, that you can only associate with desolation.
         His face is tucked into his jacket to try to protect himself from the frigid air. With each powerful gust of wind, he believes the temperature must have dropped another two degrees. If he were correct, they would be facing negative ten degree temperatures. His multiple layers of clothing make it almost impossible to hike through  the rough terrain, but he knows if he stops he will freeze to death.
         He can feel the icy air creeping into his clothes. His fingers and toes had lost all feeling long ago, despite the multiple socks and gloves, and an aching sensation was working it's way into them. He has become aware of how much his nose had been running. Each time he wiped it away, it was replaced within the minute.  He begins saying to himself that Jack Frost didn't nip his nose, he punched it.
         Who knew that Korea could be so cold? Had he known that when he volunteered he would have to endure this, he may have reconsidered it. With that, his thoughts travel back to his home in Massachusetts. He imagines that cold being fought off by the lit fireplace in his living room. He sees his beautiful wife sitting in that big love chair he bought her for her birthday because she said that the one they had wasn't comfortable. She had a few worry lines added now, and she would have a few gray hairs added to her blonde that she hadn't had when he left her. He could see her reading The Grapes Of Wrath by the light of her grandmothers old lamp. That's what she had been reading when he left, and she was probably on a new book by now, but that's what he could remember her enjoying.
         Beside her sits his now four year old daughter. Her short blonde hair had been replaced by long brown curls. Sometime in the past three years it had gotten darker, and he had missed it. Her hazel eyes danced by the light of the fire, as though they were joining the shadows caused by it. He could see her in her pink cotton night gown holding a stuffed bear that he had seen only in pictures as she sat cross legged on the carpet. He wonders if his baby girl will even remember him. She had surely seen him in pictures, but would she still consider him her father after his four year absence?  A single tear slides down his cheek and stops at his mouth. It had froze in its place.
         He wakes from his trance in a sudden jolt. He hadn't been paying attention and had tripped over a branch that had been covered in snow.  It seemed that it was there only to wake him from his longings. He glances upward to see his commanding officer say that they will be making camp in another hour.  He tucks his chin back into his chest and trudges forward counting the seconds until an hour is up and he can crouch by a fire and warm his frozen hands and feet. He falls into rhythm of counting and staring at his feet as he nears the campsite and resting place.