You took some my hair that peeked out from my eskimo-esque hood. "That snowflake looks like a star," you said softly before gently releasing the tendril to the wind's whims. I smiled and started to walk home. The roads were bad but not so terrible that walking was unadvisable or unsafe. Echoing shrieks of joy and mild terror from sledding children pushed me carefully in the direction of home. It was the winter's first snowfall and I was the only one not entirely prepared.
Later, I was walking again, hashing out my self-deprecations in my head. Except, this time, they didn't seem to be as posised to fall as the icicles hanging on every house. When the snow falls at night, no stars can be seen save those million, billion, tiny scientific marevels of frozen droplets of water which punctuate one's field of vision. I ran around the back yard, warmed by a cozy evening inside, comforted by love and inspired by the season's excitement. I am "just like a kid" but sans wide-eyed innocence and idealism. The icicles winked, solid and solemn.
The snow melted and it froze and the paths were coated with a thick, unpenetrable ice. Unlike in major cities, it did not turn to lumps and bumps because no one is responsible for salting the streets. It's not worth it; it keeps snowing and freezing. I put spikes on my boots and walked again, my hood up and body covered to the familiar cold that hits this time of year, everywhere. I crunched out my disappointments, my defects, perceived or otherwise. I saw the snowflakes in clumps, forming snowmen, angels, piles to the size of the road, moved out of the way for more important traffic. I couldn't see my reflection in any of the puddles - the sky was too grey.
You left in a snowstorm, a magical, lake-effect snowstorm that silenced the streets and the neighbors and the birds. I watched the snowflakes caress your overcoat, landing before briefly melting. Your figure cut through the thickly-falling snow, into the warm car and away. I watched for a break in the weather, standing beside the window, drinking tea, wishing for a glass of wine. The house was quiet, echoing with laughter, I thought, but it was just the wind.
The icicles were gone.