Snow fell soft, slow, and steady through gray of sunless dawn. Small fine of the flakes grew greater in wet bond through their fall and meet.
All the vision was beauty, romance, and he could not see how one could hate the winter—if one only slowed to live and be in share of winter’s way.
He drank his coffee, mirthful in watch and witness of snowfall’s scene.
From window’s view, he turned within to home of spirit-same; candle light on island face, no other light in room; she in read and rest beside, amber in close-cast glow; white of her robe, soft and a heavy-light over body like snowfall on the land.
He wanted her warmth beneath. She smiled, sighed—knowing—as she tousled hair in loose-free fall as she stayed in the energy of his attentions.
She sensed his approach, her body stiffening in tall and upright as she straightened in sit’s pose; back-draw of her blades in expand and fuller posture of her front; his cradle to through robe’s white blanket cover, heat of the fleece then smooth-coarse of hand in under-find as he kissed her mouth; flicker of candle in wavering light as if flame sensed same as she, waver and flicker then hold and burn of keeping stronger flame.
He turned her in seat. He held to her face. She wrapped him in legs, smooth and warm and slick of candle’s melt in run and pool, bead-fall runnels down candle’s sides as they loved in the slow and spirit—beauty—of winter’s way.