My Friend

Catching the scent on the morning air, the scent of winter, of cold. Smiling at the pleasant memories it stirs.
The first signs of frost on the blades of grass, the falling of the leaves, the first morning you need a jacket!
The gray gloomy sky's that tell of things to come, of snow and rain and other wonders.
Having to grip the steering wheel tighter at the first sign of slickness on the roads.
Sitting by your window you start to feel the cold creeping in, not all at once just a bit at a time.
I admit begrudgingly that my old friend is back, every year he comes to visit, each stay is slightly different. Yet
for all of the complaining I do I am glad when he arrives.
To wake up in my warm bed, feeling content and safe and knowing that it awaits, my pal with his icy fingers
and frosty breath.
I face him, to spite the dread, to spite the desire to return to my slumber. I face him, some days he amazes me with his work!
The way he covers the earth with a blanket of white, encasing tree branches with ice, I long for the days as a boy, I would run out to play with him, to make angles in the blankets of white, to torment my sisters and the other neighborhood girls with a volley of snow balls.
How my pals and I would take our bikes and look for icy patches in plowed parking lots to see who could stay up the longest.
The best ones are of grandpa and are they rare, so I treasure when he brings those memories forth. Of granddads lake house with its mighty hill, how he would let me sled it, even though mom said it was too dangerous. The way I would run in all red faced from the wind and cold he, would give me coco or coffee when grandma was off spending his hard earned money. The way I would sit on the foot stool in front of his chair, just happy to be near him. He would listen to the news and read his paper, occasionally asking me how my coco was? I can still; years later when that sweet old man is long in the ground, hear his voice on those cold winter days. Smell him breath as he spoke, a mixture of coffee, cigarettes and peppermint.
It is because of that one that I welcome my friend winter, not for the piercing wind, fridged days, slick roads, head colds, or numb hands, no it's for the smells and tastes and sounds of sitting on that foot stool, with the man I loved most in my childhood, and feeling the scratch of his whiskers as he hugged me. For those times that it was just us! Those winter days, long gone, in a house long sold, with a man long dead. Yet every year my friend lets me go back if just for a moment, long enough to say I love you.
So come snow and ice, you will always be welcome here!