Going Back

The flakes coming down are as big as saucers. Finally, more white; after all it is winter.  As kids we spent time digging through snow banks to carve out caves, later trekking over to Shaw's Hill to slide coming home only to warm up. It was a simple existence-really with a basket of mid-matched mittens, patched snow pants and an extra winter jacket outgrown, but warm. Steamed milk with Hershey's chocolate sauce sipped while we kids thawed readying for another few hours outside. Boredom was not part of our lives. 

Presently, I prepare to venture outside to marvel in the wonder of winter and reminence. The snow is deep, just below my knees. Walking is slow. Our shoulders and heads pile with snow the longer we hike. I drag my walking stick beside me etching a long line in the snow, hearing it drag.  This simple movement brings me back. It brings me back.