"It's cold." Jack O'Neill disliked the cold. It played havoc with his knee.
"It is snowing Sir."
"Thanks Carter, I hadn't realised." He couldn't help the sarcasm; the air was thick with it. He glanced at his second in command. Sam was looking up, smiling wistfully. "What ya smiling at?" He asked.
"I was just remembering when I was little, playing out in the yard with my brother and making angels in the snow."
There was a long pause. A slow smile crept over Jack's face.
"You know what Carter?"
"What Sir?"
"You make a great snow angel."