The sliver of white that hugged the tree line on the verge between grass and wooded way, indicated that spring but not quite was dawning.
The dying grasps of a wretched winters fingers skirted the boundaries.
The naked twigs of hedges stood like tiptoed feet wading through spilled milk.
Undergarments of gloom hid the scurrying creatures and things of no interest to the passing gaze.
My thoughts disturbed the crisp worlds stillness as I watched the lace of crystal elegantly descend appearing seemingly from nowhere swaying on a unfelt breeze.
The snowflake landed on her nose. All I wanted to do at that point was be home and snug, rolled in counterpane, glowing orange warmth and naked skin.
I wanted to deny the unfolding crime of time and nature. I was turning away from the hope of that melting corridor of spring that would more swiftly come and take her away . Our drawn days would loose reach of their shadow fingers across the land. Dawns would warm and sap would rise and buds would fill with promised green as I would fill with promised dread knowing that she would have to leave.