Author Adelaide Green

I miss you when it’s cold out, my breath catching in the air infront of me. You loved the cold. You took me skiing as a child until I was “too old” for it. Now I realize those words meant nothing, they took away something that was ours. I watch as the snow gently falls and think about the sled runs you use to make. Our house sat on top of the most wonderful hills, once I drove I began to dislike the slop when it snowed. The ice became a burden, a trap. As a child though it was our rescue ranger track. Mom got mad because we hit a tree on your run. No one was hurt. The only noises that escaped was laughter, always laughter. Our breath catching in the air like mine does today. So out of breath from all the fun we were having. You’d make a fire, the biggest one I’d ever seen for us to all warm up by. We’d beg mom to come out, she never did, but you, you’d always come out. My reliable gentle snowman of a man. The snow makes me miss you, now and always.