It was one of those winters. Those winters where the defiant wind blew right through you, like it knew all your secrets. The trees shivered in the cold, amused, daring you to fight back. Their bony figures rocked in the wind, taking it while they could, until theyd admit that it was the wind that was the strongest. After a life of peaceful struggle, their weakened forms would kneel before their master, and collapse into the snow, dreaming of the endless slumber that awaited them. Just looking outside, you could feel their icy branches, like arms, wrap around your skin. Protecting you from the storm that was coming. My mother got up from the window seat. The blue cushion, thick as a memory, inflated with the absence of her weight. She walked into the kitchen and selected a carton of milk from the fridge. She glanced around the room, taking in the sight of unopened mail on the counter, and the smell of buttered toast. Finally, she settled at the kitchen table, in front of yesterdays newspaper. She sipped her tea and listened to the gusts of wind blowing past the windows and through the porch. She looked so peaceful. Quiet, but entirely content. I smiled at her, and then she looked at me. Its gonna be a cold one today, she said, looking out the window now. Her velvet voice soothed my spirits. I loved Saturday mornings in December, for reasons like this. Wed sit, warm and comfortable, eating our breakfasts and staring out at the snow. I would look at the trees, cradling families of snowflakes in their arms. I wondered if they envied us, warm in our pajamas and housecoats, on the other side of the glass. I thought they did. Its a good day for staying inside, sitting in front of the fire, my mother continued. What do you think? Id like to read my book, actually, its getting really good. She smiled playfully, and preceded to describe the last passage shed read, her bright eyes animated with delight. Here, come on, Ill read to you. She jumped up from her chair, excitedly, and pulled me to the couch. I laughed, jumping on the living room sofa, and then snuggled in next to her. I closed my eyes against her warm, fuzzy sweater, and waited for the sound of her voice. She read to me. In a rich, melodic tone she