LOG CABIN HOME IN THE SNOW

I have to get through many miles of snow to get here. On my my sled. Amanda's face is red. Red on her white cheeks. She's wearing a LL Bean sweater. And little flecks of snow are stuck in it. I can smell the damp. We pull the sled. Another mile to go. The snow is thick, milky, and heavy. It sticks to the pines. I feel tingles. I am relaxed. Amanda breathes out white puffs of air. A finch lands on the pine branch. His feet become wet with snow. The boughs are weigheed down. Bendinrg under the weight.

My boots are thick. Our packages are secure. Up the trail. We will make the cabin light up yellow. Her face half lit. By the fire. I'll get a cord of wood from the fire pit next to the cottage. Stacked in neat triangles. I rub my belly by the fire. The tingle feeling has not left.

This moment is forever. She's weearing black jeans. She pulls her boots off. Rubs her small feet, red on the bottoms. The flap of dirty blond hair falls across her face again. Tyhe fire burns red/yellow/orange.