Snowprints

I start to black out the dreaded winter as soon as those silly little crocuses start peaking out their early heads. When there is a taste of spring in the air, I begin to push the memories of everything cold out of my mind. But every year, with the very first snow, it all comes rushing back to me. And this year I promised myself that there would always be one thing that I never forget to remember even when bathing in the summer sunshine.

It came back to me on the night of this year's very first snowfall. The Jebdate and I wandered across the street to our favorite neighbor's house just as the storm began. In the time it took to cross the street both of us were covered in big, fluffy snowflakes. It was coming down. We then spent a few hours in the warm company of our good friends, solving the worlds mysteries and lamenting children. When we had exhausted ourselves and all lucid conversation, Jeb and I put our shoes back on and started our way back across the street. During our visiting the snow had piled a few inches and covered the grass, sidewalk, and road. As John-Erik and I made it down our neighbor's driveway, he dashed in front of me and out into the street. I thought he was just cold and couldn't take the short walk through the snow. But, no. That was when the memory of every snowstorm we have weathered together returned.

He's always walked in front of me in the snow. He does this to make footprints for me to follow in. I don't think he does it for me to notice he does it, but just because he is thoughtful like that. He knows I hate the snow. Hate, hate, hate. Especially when it gets in my shoes and clings the bottoms of my jeans. And so with every single snowstorm that we have to walk through, he jumps ahead and cuts a path for me to follow. Sweet, right?

Well, I notice. And I won't forget.