Musings in the Middle of Nowhere

There is something comforting about the dismal gray sky and the fluffs of white that are wisking around in the slight breeze. Perhaps its charming effects have me wrapped in the memories of snowfalls past. Maybe you remember them too. That time when Mom would retrieve the scarfs and snowsuits from the wooden chest on the back porch. Strategically she bound our bodies in the childhood scented cotton and wool. Do you remember breathing loudly through the scarfs and hearing the muffled sounds of each other as we tried to run, pant, run, trip, run, slide into the blanket of wet crystals? Who could ever think that such cold air could instantly strike tears on our cheeks? Rosy cheeked we stumbled up the stairs, stood in a puddle of water, and let Mom carefully strip our soaking bodies of its source of tremors. For now we were distinguishing the freezing from the warm and the tingling usually started in a tickle fashion, but soon felt like sharp nails were driving through the very skin of our hands and feet. But chilly as we may have been, that didn't stop Mom from taking our pudgy little hands in hers and placing them on her warm belly. Immediately the blood began to surge through us again and just in time to hear the teapot send a whistle through the air so pitched that the cats scrambling from the room in sheer annoyance and indicating that our hot chocolate was ready for consumption. Perhaps this is why I smile as I look out my window.