Snowing

My hair wet; my skin red. The shower an unbalanced mechanism of heat and ice. Beads of water drip from my skin. I am barefoot walking through the house. You can smell the dog and feel her sheadings on the floor. My naked body, lightly dried with a soaking towel, covered by a sheet in a cocoon of heat and flesh. I am pulled into his arms. His scent fills me, his gentleness surrounds me. My hair damp dripping on my back. There is a chill in the air as I lie beneath the covers. Somehow I understand and know for certain that is is snowing. In the morning my hair stands high. The bed holds me in place. I never want to leave. Knowing I am fragile there was comfort in the security. It was snowing.