Snowing Home

"Snow's not so cold, after all", she marveled aloud as she watched the fat fluffy flakes fall around her outstretched hand.

Ellen had been nervous about attacking the rapidly escalating blanket of snow; this had always been Steve's job, and one that he used to enjoy. Clearing away the snow in front of their home gave him satisfaction, he always told her. It's what the man of the house should do.

Now there was no more man of the house, and Ellen added this to the many tasks she'd needed to conquer on her own. Ellen dreaded the work and the cold.

Fascinated, she watched her warm woolen mitten become rimed with snowy crystals, and although she could see the fibers become darker from the moisture she couldn't feel the cold on her fingers.

She couldn't see the shovel, either, even though she knew she'd dropped it right over there, next to the mailbox, when she'd turned to go back to the house.

All she'd needed was to sit and rest, and maybe get warm. 'A little break' is what Steve used to say. A little break to catch his breath.

Since she'd sat down at the end of the driveway her breathing had been slower, with a lovely warmth making her drowsy. Falling snow was bringing a glow to the night sky. Ellen leaned, tipping her head up to see the snow whirling.

Steve floated towards her.

"Give me your hand honey, I'll take you home," said Steve tenderly.