Snow Angel

Snowflakes dust onto her cheeks and nose, causing her to blink rapidly as she stares straight up, up, up, at the white falling from white, endlessly and gently floating down toward her in soft, silent clumps.

Glancing side to side, she smiles at the indents she has created in the snow.

Snow angels.

That’s what the children had called them. She’d seen them while looking down, and couldn’t help coming closer to investigate. The shapes, the sweeping motions — They had created their own wings.

Lying in the snow, gazing upward, she thinks of their laughter, their rosy cheeks and running noses, remembers watching them bound through the snow, recalls guiding each to his or her home through the gathering gloom.

Voices floating out, offers of warm drinks, instructions to brush off all the excess, melting fluff before coming in.

When all were safely inside, she’d come to the site in the snow where thousands of these “angels” danced.

Glancing around to make sure no one saw, she’d chosen an empty spot, brushing snow aside in grand, enthusiastic sweeps.

Her smile doesn’t fade. How can it? She can’t stop wondering what they’ll think when they find her snow shadow. Even as the cold creeps into her limbs, reminding her to move from the frozen earth, she feels the spark of warmth which is created by childish play.

She stands, unfurling her wings and giving them a shake. She launches herself into the sky, swirling upward amongst the silently falling flakes.