Remember

Do you remember last November?

That morning we woke up, and the window was filled with snow; we couldn't eat breakfast fast enough. You were pulling your brown jacket on as you chased me out of the house. I bent to the snow and scooped it into a ball. I turned to throw it, but you tackled me into a drift instead.

Up faster than I, you ran around the corner of the house, smiling crookedly like you do. I stood, and shook the snow from my hair, chased you around the corner, where you waited, cold ball of slush in your hand.

Laughing, with snow sliding into my eyes, I ran into you and stumbled backwards. You caught the tops of my arms, and brushed the water from my cheeks as giggles turned to hiccups. I was breathing hard, and your red cheeks matched mine. You were watching my face, smiling; I tilted my head, wondering why. You kissed my cold nose before I twisted away, only to fall in another pile of snow. You laughed.

We played like three-year old's for the afternoon, and not until our clothes were sodden and our hair hanging in limp strands did we come inside.