Seasonal Routines

Off in the corner of the room, his clothing sat crumpled in a pile. Somewhere beneath all the folds and zippers, lay his boots, hidden from sight. It had all been there for the last couple minutes, dripping onto the floor. The snow that had clung to the cotton desperately trying to remain solid, fighting against the heat of the house, only to fail and become absorbed by the carpet. Bleeding out further and further into the room. Leaving a dark patch around his snowsuit.

Behind him the radiator was hissing and popping. Water had finally begun to circulate through the curved metal. He knew not to get too close. He had done it before. Been a bit too bold, a bit to brave. Touching the metal and burning himself. Now he knew to at least give it a few inches. When he first came into the room after stripping away his many layers, it was the first thing he did - approach it, hands held out, waiting to feel it's warmth. It never took too long though before the blood was circulating again and he felt thawed. And today was no different. In almost no time his hands were tingling, his cheeks were rosy, and his hair was dry.

He had been so focused on the heater that he had completely missed his mother coming into his room. Another routine he had grown accustomed too. After they had ventured out into the snow, romping through the drifts, lobbing snowballs at one another, and giggling amongst the falling flakes, her first stop once back inside the house was the kitchen to pour themselves two steaming cups of cocoa. With the obligatory handful of miniature marshmallows. She had noticed him, standing against the radiator, looking so content, so she chose not to disturb him, leaving the mug of liquid chocolate on his nightstand. It wasn't until the aroma had wafted across the room that he realized she had come and gone.

But by that time, he was focused on something else.

Kneeling on his bed, forehead pressed against the window, he gazed out into the street. Watching as the snowflakes fell all the way from the grey clouds to the ground, as cars passed, creeping cautiously down the road, weary of black ice. Across the street some children were throwing snowballs at a squirrel that was walking the wire between two telephone poles, laughing each time they were close. He was looking for one specific thing and he knew it'd be arriving soon. And within a few minutes, it did. Down at the end of the street, he saw a specific car turn, headed up towards the house, eventually making its way into the driveway. The moment it crossed the plain of the mailbox, he jumped from his bed and began throwing on his snowsuit, tying his boots, and putting on his gloves.

By the time his dad had come through the front door, he was standing there at the base of the stairs smiling. Geared up and ready to go back out for round two.