Winter's Children

Snow fell all day, straight down, like a hushed, white curtain.
She sat within, rocking, smiling.
He said, "Old woman, what's got you smilin?"
"Nothin," she said.
But the quivering wouldn't stop.
Under her ribs, under her starched apron, dusted with flour.
My! I'm too old for this, she thought, trying to be aggravated.
Still...she thought as the window tugged at her eyes.
Still...the snow fell.
Was it only inches deep now, maybe feet?
Was the bread done?
Check the bread...and the apple stump by the pond...just a glance.
Her fingers shook a little, lifting the pans from the oven.
Dumping the crusty brown loaves to the table.
Slathering the tops with butter.
Covering the hot bread with towels.
Just a glance but she'd seen.
So undignified, she thought, but to no avail.
Eyes closed, she swayed close to the fragrant loaves....inhaled deep.
"What you thinkin' about, old woman?" he asks with humor.
"How good this bread smells," she replied with relish.
Snow angels, she thought, a red sled with FLYER painted white on it's seat.
She moved back to the rocker.
Her smile returned.
"What you thinkin' about now, old woman?" he asked.
"How you're gonna have to shovel the drive." she replied.
A snowman with coal eyes, she thought.
The snow still fell, heavier now.
Darkness began spilling from the edge of the woods.
There it was again...a tremble under her ribs.
A small, delicious shiver in her feet.
You're too old for this, she thought, and tried to be annoyed.
"I hate going out in this," he grumbled.
"I should check the chickens," she replied.
"Wear your boots, old woman," he called.
She never heard.
He watched at the window, smiling.
Wonder what she'd say if I brought the toboggan down from the attic, he thought.