crunch and slip

The sound of the snow pleased her. It crunched and it squeaked at the end of every step. Her boots slipped a little as they compacted the fresh powder. For each of those precarious split-seconds her heart jumped. Just a little. There wasn’t any real danger. Just that momentary slip – an inch or so, maybe less.

She breathed heavy and watched the steam of it drift away among the falling flakes. It was thick and turned the world around her into a winter mosaic. Everything familiar was different, temporarily veiled.

She stopped to kick a drift, giggling as the powder exploded from the tip of her wellie boot.

Her mittened hand waved at old man walking his spaniel; the animal amazed, confounded and delirious at the strange new medium that surrounded it. More laughter as the dog chased the falling snow.

She scooped with both hands and shaped a rough sphere. The ‘phap’ as it hit the stone wall echoed: a satisfying punctuation to her throw.

Before long she heard branches dripping, and saw above a sliver of blue sky.

She walked a different way home, listening to the crunch of her boots and the jump of her heart with every slip.

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