The First Snow

A curtain of white outside my early morning window, it was the silence that woke me. Floating gently to earth, refusing to melt on the icy ground, it clung to protrusions like a minor clinging to his dreams.

Stealthy and secretive, obscuring the inconsistencies of footing until you have to feel your way gingerly, like a blind man searching for a path.

I took a moment to gaze upon it with appreciative eyes from the relative safety of my hammock upstairs. Gathering myself to face the day, marshaling my courage to slip into ice cold jeans. I was victorious eventually, the cold layers of fabric being slowly thawed by the heat of my flesh, but it was a hard won victory.

A chilly dog greeted me with a wiggle and a warm hug that banished winter for a brief moment. Rubbing my bloodless fingers to bring life to their dead flesh, I prepared for him a hot meal to tide him over. He very much appreciated this, but he enjoyed the hug more, and told me so as he left his dish to poke his head out the door. “Leaving already?” His big brown eyes asked forlornly. I went back to give him another pat, just to let him know he was a great person, before driving off with my heart tucked away for the day.

Icy roads and a frozen beard on a cottonwood tree. Blue azure skies rose in sharp relief above the mountains clad in robes of white, and the sun shone it’s cold regard upon the earth. A gaze firm with disapproval at the frigid state of things, but a gaze lacking in the power to thaw it’s grip.

There was one star, nestled secretly on the horizon, nearly missed with a swift glance at the treeline. Caught sight of it at the last minute, and had to smile at the irony.

I knew better than to make a wish.

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5 thoughts on “The First Snow

  1. We may be having differing definitions of romance. Melancholy (as are the other emotions) is romantic to me. It brings up memories and visions that feel good to me, like healing wounds. I suppose I refer to the beauty you speak of as romance.

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