Standing in the crackling brown grass I lift my face to the gray-white sky, eyes closed I feel the tiny snowflakes as they fall on my face. I open my eyes and I can see my breath in the cold air. I hold my hand out and watch as the delicate lacy patterned flakes land and quickly disappear.
In the distance I can hear a dog barking in short joyful yips. I imagine him playing in the snow, pawing the air as he jumps to catch the snowflakes in his mouth.
There are two little girls making footprints in the sidewalk, spelling their names I think. They are bundled head to toe in matching pink and white winter wear. They stop and bend over making small snowballs with their vinyl mittens. One of them is eating her snowball. I smile with memories of a simpler time in my life. I’m a little jealous.
I recall snow days and wrapping my sock feet in bread bags before stuffing them into boots. I remember cotton wool mittens frozen solid and covered with snow burrs. I remember snow angels and crooked snowmen. I remember snow forts and the feeling of falling into a huge snowbank. I remember the crunch of the snow in the trenches at the top of our street as we trudged knee deep. I remember sleds and slippery sidewalks. I remember coming home to a warm house and sitting on the floor in the hall taking off the layers.
“Don’t track that snow on the carpet!”
“Put your mittens on the heater vent and your boots on the step.”
“It smells like snow” they used to say. I never really understood that. I also never could comprehend “It’s too cold to snow”.
I shiver, pushing my fisted hands deep into my jacket pockets. I glance once more at the little girls, now sitting in the grass, contemplating life I suspect. My toes are frozen inside my shoes and my warm kitchen beckons. It’s time for fuzzy socks and a cup of hot tea. For just a moment I consider laying back on that fresh snow and making a snow angel or making a snowball and tossing it into the woods.