I remember her red dress, of how when night came it’s thin straps slipped over her thinner shoulders falling slowly into a wrinkled circle on my floor. I remember her seeing me seeing her put it on in front of our ice curtained window the next morning and even though that dress was too short for autumn she would wear it anyway. I think because she knew it drove me crazy. She would hide it underneath her long winter sweater like she was keeping safe a secret that was only just for me. When she put on that sweater the light from the dawn would sneak out through the tiny holes in the fabric kissing sun-ray freckles on her pale unmarked body. She pulled it over her head ever so slowly. The leisurely motion in some way made me image a 9 year old boy I who for the first time that winter hesitated to pull but his snow boots over thickly crocheted socks.  His feet look like her head in some way. Both are somewhat unwilling to slide into warmer weather clothes; hiding a secret warming joy.