I slept through most of the snowfall, it doesn't mean as much now as when my father and I would escape together. I think of it as our summer house but we would spend time there during winters too, him and I, just to get away from Los Angeles and the plastic.
It would always be months since we closed up and left,
the chairs in the living room would be covered with heavy fabrics and
the air would smell of ice and charcoal. We would pretend it belonged to
someone else and move carefully to keep from leaving any traces in the
dust on the cold wooden floors.
I would sometimes wake up in the
middle of the night to that soft snowfall silence. I would get up and
watch him in secret from the top of the stairs as he sat there quietly
alone by the fireplace. All that moved was time and the sparks from the
fire reflecting in his eyes.