Snowfield

I woke one morning, my blinking eyes trying to make sense of the bright white I could see out of my bedroom window.

I pushed myself up and sprang out of bed, my young body feeling light, nimble and awake. My eyes opened wide as I pressed my little nose up against the window pane, my cheeks reflected rosy in the glass, my breath creating a little circle of fog. The meadow beyond my window was covered in a layer of the winter’s first snow.

I drew a sharp breath and ran out of the room to find my mother, not able to waste another minute being trapped indoors when there was such paradise waiting for me out there. Mother smiled and shook her head at me trying to tug on my boots over my nightdress. When I asked her if I could go and fetch Daisy to play, she said I may, as long as I dressed properly first.

Mother brushed my hair and plaited it into two braids while I jittered impatiently, not understanding why my hair had to be nice for the snow. As soon as my stockings, winter dress and coat were on, boots properly laced, I sped through the front door, letting it bang closed behind me.

Daisy lived next door, and she was running out of the house as I approached, ready, as if she’d known I was coming. She smiled wide and beautifully, and the sight of her nearly caused me to trip. She, my best friend, ran toward me laughing and hugged me, as though I hadn’t seen her just yesterday. Her golden hair, which always smelled somehow of oranges, smothered my face deliciously.

We’d both left trails of footprints in the snow; they met together in the middle between the two houses, then carried on side by side after us as we made our way toward the meadow. We chatted as we skipped into the snowy field, about what, I don’t even know. Somehow there was always something to talk about with Daisy, though we could happily be together in silence. She understood me, she always had; I loved her, she loved me, like we had known each other for thousands of years.

We played all day, the silver-white snow crunching beneath our feet and hands, the magical perfect cold we could mould into creatures and forms. We created worlds and stories and characters, other lives where we were other people or animals or trees. My cheeks were pink with love and joy and the biting cold. I wanted this life to last forever.

When the day was over we returned to our homes, and as I hugged her goodbye I saw Daisy’s mother, the woman with the golden hair, standing waving by their front door. I had always liked Daisy’s mother. I knew her from before.

I went to bed marvelling at how we’re all connected. Everything. All of us. Everywhere. Always.

How lucky I was to spend this life with her. I would not waste one moment of it.