Memories of snow-filled rock caves,
and of following the branches of water
to a faux river,
and becoming hopelessly lost.
Trudging up logging hills,
as the impending storm looms closer
and closer.
Your eyes, clearly,
lost in something we could never
be, but we tried,
didn't we?
The seasons passed too slowly for us
and our wandering, inquisitive
minds.
Stumbling up a road, a hill,
leading to your home,
as you were mine,
wearing gloves of mine
to keep your warmth for myself,
selfish,
knowing it will always belong to
Earth.
Snow angels.

I long for that Wintry, Willowy wonderland
still.