Sometimes, the snow comes.
And the kids are sick.
And Grandma and Grandpa want to be with them.
Sometimes we are let loose, my love and I.
The land shimmers in it’s snow blanket, fresh and airy.
Shifting clouds, filtered light.
Everything is gliding motion.
Forest and snow.
Well worn trail, well-known love.
Skis and you.
Gliding along we go.
Kyce Bello 