in the depths of snow

I don't suppose it was ever really there. I like tangible things. Things you can wrap your fingers around and feel the texture of. You know what it is that way. You feel the shape, the size, the density, and the personality of the thing. You decide when to let it go. Most of the important things can't be contained so easily. How do you grasp something ephemeral? Is their some net of the mind that can dig its claws in, hold on, and yell "ah ha, you're mine!"? No. There is no way, and these little delicacies slip away faster than one can lay their eyes upon them.

All winter's end in frost. Frozen fingers come creeping out from under the sheets feeling their way along the floors while heat flees for the ceiling to hide. Bare feet ice over and go numb. Drafts wind their way up legs and bedclothes sending temperatures plummeting into the blue.

The snow is swirling again. I have forgotten my boots, and the melting water is cold. My toes, nearly gone, turn to ice in my shoes. Socks freeze, and nails turn blue.