W‌inter had come again, brisk winds blowing large flakes of snow that sting my face, burning cheeks. Always finding that one place of uncovered
skin. Coat buttoned tightly could not prevent Old Man Winters icy touch, and I shiver and quicken my pace. Warm home and hearth are
prevalent thoughts, and I take the shortcut through grassy field. Boots kick at snow, creating tracks not easily traversed in mounds of snow
and hidden holes.

As I step off the grass and onto the gravel lain side street, sound is presented to ears and echoes into childhood memories, tripping thoughts
that rise to the surface. A young girl walking hand in hand with her cousin, up towards the drive-in theater down the road. Red rubber boots
buttoned on the sides, trying to keep toes warm as over the gravel strewn road they trudge. Snow and rock grind under boots, a clear crunching
sound is heard and the young girl smiles, and remembers, that sound.

Now years later, grown woman hears the similar sound of gravel and snow under leather boots grinding, and remembering childhood, smiles
sweetly. She slows her pace to allow sound to remain in auditory vessels just a little longer. Holding onto the memory, allowing it to
warm her heart, twinkle comes into old eyes. And somehow, the winters cold icy touch is not quite so bitter.

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