It was winter, West Virginia,
and you were four.
Nose glued to half frozen window pane,
you watched the snow fall slowly.
Grandma's 1950's funky floor radiator
heated your wiggly toes
as the thick red curtains
hid you like a secret.

From here,

(knees buckled beneath you
on hardwood, fingers forming squiggly masterpieces
by cutting through the window-silk of your breath,)

I could see the budding growth
of a familiar artist-
those brown eyes squinting in a thin line
so to trace each snowflake pattern
onto the coloring book
of your memory-
pages frosted with God's frozen tears,
stuck together like love.

We never could have met
at this moment
but I know I was there:
Silently falling on cotton slopes
in chunks of snow,
shaking from furry pines
just like powdered sugar
so you would rush out
to taste me:

I was the mellow sky
you played under
while wearing rubber boots,
I was the itchy old scarf
Grandma wrapped around your neck
for protection,
I was the red curtain you clutched
with tiny fists
in seasonal excitement,
and I begged you to feel warm
when from behind drifting clouds
I emerged to bring out
the rose in your cheeks.

Life, from this moment on,
would bring you more winters
than you could count-
but this day would always remain
in your mind as the first-
the first time white fell in whispers
over yesterdays mistakes
and the first time starting fresh
meant sinking into snow angels-

(unaware that life is sometimes more like hail,
salty and uneven when held too tight)

But just like the icy pond,
unrippled and solid,
I waited-
waited as the frosting
flecking your wool cap
until melted
I could seep into you.

I waited in countless formations
of your chilly,childhood discoveries-
counting the moments in snowflakes
until you would discover me.