A Walk in Winter

We went for a walk today. It is still winter and, surrounded as we are by four- or five-foot snow banks all over the city, it is difficult to imagine the oncoming and inevitable thaw. The snow, packed down and walk-able, was still white -- except for the yellow stains from the dogs, not to mention the dog shit, that lined the paths -- and through the woods, the trees and their branches remained bare, snapping off as we pushed through the tighter spots. The air felt warm enough that I could take off my mittens. We walked at a leisurely pace: my husband and eldest son ahead, tossing snowballs and familiar insults at each other; my father-in-law following them, several paces behind, his steps deliberate but steady; and I, behind him, watching his matchstick legs as he stepped one foot in front of the other. Shouts and laughter echoed from the toboggan hill, and I stopped only to look up through the branches at the bluest sky.