I like snow.
Lately it’s been reminding me of you.
I can see it.
Us standing side by side.
The backs of our mittened-hands barely touching, but not holding.
We stare out over the snow-decorated landscape.
Bird tracks under a feeder.
A cat’s paw prints showing where she waited nearby.
Snow day footprints of children running in all directions.
And all of it being gradually covered by large, light, fluffy flakes.
I wander off.
You look at a field of snow dunes and drifts painted pink by the slowly retreating sun.
You take as much as you can of it in with a large inhale.
Then you watch your exhale escape and fade.
You hold out your red mitten-clad right hand. Palm up.
You stare closely.
A laugh bubbles to the surface.
You turn to share the moment with me.
I hit you in the shoulder with a snowball.
You are shocked.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Oh relax,” I say. “You have plenty of padding.”
Even as the words spill out…
You are even shockeder.
“Are you calling me fat?!?!?!” you yellask.
“Oh dear God no!”
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean!. Oh no!” I am tripping on the words as they come out.
“I’m hurt…” you whisper.
“Your jacket! I meant your jacket! Oh no… Baby… You’re perfect!”
“Just messing with you,” you say.
You’re entirely too pleased with yourself.
You dance around me. I just blink.
You skip off, still laughing.
You turn back to me.
“And that is why y–”
I hit your other shoulder with an even bigger snowball.
“You’re in big trouble now, mister” you inform.
“Please. You have to be at least *THIS* tall to trash talk me.”
You stand under my hand, that I am holding about five feet and seven inches off the ground.
You jump and try to hit your head against it.
You try to stifle your laugh.
You grab my jacket and shove me. I hold your hands and fall to the ground, pulling you down on top of me.
“Oh… no… please… get… off.. of… me,” I mangiggle.
You try to get off of me, but I hold you down.
“Get your hands off of my bum,” you say.
“Not… quite… yet…”
You toss snow in my face with both hands.
I let go. You get up laughing.
I make a snow angel.
I get up too.
I pull you in for a hug.
I kiss your freckled nose.
“Cold,” I say.
“That’s how you know I’m a healthy puppy.”
I wander off.
I don’t notice you drawing horns on my snow angel.
You look to see what I’m doing.
I’m brushing snow off of a picnic table with one hand, while putting my Black Berry back in my pocket with the other.
“What are you doing over there?” I ask.
It sounds reasonable to me.
I see the horns on my angel.
“I thank you,” you curtsy.
You wrap your arm around mine.
You lean against me.
I kiss the top of your head.
“I like that,” you whisper.
“My nose was runny,” I whisper back.
You shake your head.
I pull my phone phone out, hit a couple buttons, then put it back in my pocket.
Your phone rings.
You fish yours out, and see it’s a BBM’d pic from me.
You look closer and see that I had written “I <3 you” in the snow with my finger.
“And that’s why I keep you around,” you say.
“Not my rakish good looks?”
You put your phone away and pull your mittens back on.
“Babe, my hands are wet,” you tell me.
“You don’t seem to mind.”
“I’m ever so burly.”
“Mmmmhmm” you mmmmhmm.
We walk a few more steps.
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a dry pair of mittens.
“Awww. They’re little! You brought them for me?” you ask.
“How did you know?”
“I’m a pain in the ass and you’re hyper-competitive. How could that NOT lead to a snowball fight?”
“Hyper… competitive?” you madface and point at me.
“But cute. VERY cute,” I add.
“Thaaaank you,” you almost sing.
“I meant me.”
You let go of my arm and put up your fists.
“You’re going down, DeWolf.”
I take a step back and pretend to loosen up.
“We gonna talk all night or are we going to do this?” I ask with a grin.
Sound like fun?