Warmth

From the tips of trees the breeze shook free the snow. It fell slowly down, twirling and spreading out in the air. The sun hadn't yet risen, but it would, soon. Distant mountaintops seemed piles of sugar. Cold air rattled loose leaves across a frozen lake. They skittered and blew in spirals until they crashed into a snowy hillside. On the other side of the hill icicles hung like long shark teeth from the mouth of a small cave. In the spotless forest, frosted and pristine, a hungry squirrel rummaged through a campsite garbage can. Nearby, not yet awake, a couple slept inside an orange tent. They'd been in the park for the last two days and had done much hiking. The night before, over a bottle of red wine, they made a fire, roasted marshmallows, and told stories. The stars above twinkled and the sky seemed to pull away from them, making the world swell with mystery. They wore down jackets and scarves, winter hats and waterproof boots. They sat reclined in a chair with a warm blanket draped over them as they spoke. Beside the fire he had her in his arms. She leaned her head back against his chest and smiled. As the wood burned it cracked and popped and the wind kicked off little embers that moved like snow. It was their first camping trip together. Each of them had been to the park independently, and never during winter. The thought hadn't ever crossed their minds. This made them happy, because it meant they were able to share this moment for the first time, together.

The sun began to light up the sky behind the mountains. Slowly the sunlight melted and spilled down in rivers into the valley. When it touched the top of the tent it began to warm. He moved against her in the sleeping bag, shaking off sleep's stiffness as he spoke. Mmmm, she said. They whispered and she kissed his wine stained lips. They felt the cold air against their skin as they poked their heads out from their cocoon. She smiled and said it was too cold to wake up. He said it was too cold to sleep in. They moved and wrestled free of the cold in slow motion. Making love in a tent, inside a sleeping bag, in the dead of winter, carried with it a kind of nordic novelty. When they were done they were warm and happy, hungry. Once the warmth had begun to disappear they quickly dressed and unzipped the tent. It was snowing. Clouds had floated in over the naked forest and flurries of shining snow danced all around them. To the east, over the mountains, the sky was clear and completely blue. Wow, look, she said, pointing, that's beautiful. And it was. A vacillating sky. The morning felt dreamlike and paradoxical, as if it were rooted in two separate realities at the same time.

They each ate a banana while they waited for the water to boil. Hot cocoa, oatmeal with cinnamon and carmelized apples, two bran muffins they'd picked up at a roadside gas station in the middle of nowhere on the drive up. The flurries had stopped and the sky was dusty but bright. Today they would take pictures and play on the lake, probably have an impromptu snowball fight, maybe build a snowman. It seemed like no one else wanted to brave the storm and they had the entire park to themselves. A snow covered Eden. She looked cute, bundled up in her winter clothes, puffs of smoke coming from her mouth as she breathed, her big eyes shiny and wet like melting ice. He wanted to take her back to the tent and pull off all her clothes and climb back into the sleeping bag with her. There was time for that. They should go out, he thought, that's why they were here. No, they were here to be together, to be together here, now. There wasn't anywhere else he wanted to be. It didn't matter what they did, really, because they were here, making a memory. Memories of a split sky, of a morning snowstorm, of marshmallows and wine, of the heat of their bodies, the warmth of her love.

Just then she asked him what he was thinking of.

You, he said, just you.