She loved the snow. He thought it odd considering she'd grown up in a much warmer climate and had probably never seen snow for the first ten or so years of her life. Though, maybe that was why she was so awed by the majestic white flakes that fluttered down from the sky, dancing around them as the wind blew. When you grow up with something like snow, it's very easy to take it for granted.
"Let's make snow angels," Abby said. Without waiting for Tim to respond, she pulled him down to the ground and joined him on her back. Vigorously, she ran her outstretched limbs along the ground, pushing the carpet of snow around until it looked like an angel had been lying there.
Tim didn't make one, opting instead to watch her. In many ways she was like a child. Energetic, carefree, bright-eyed. Surely this wasn't her first snow—she'd been living on the east coast long enough that she'd grown accustomed to it—yet each time was as though she were experiencing it for the first time. It made him grin.
"Aren't you going to make one?" she asked.
"I've made enough snow angels to last me a life time."
"Oh, come on," she pleaded with a tiny pout, "it's fun! Besides, if you don't make one, my snow angel will feel lonely."
He shook his head and sighed, though he was still grinning that same grin. "Okay, okay," he relented as he flopped on to his back, "I'll make a snow angel." As he swished his arms and legs back and forth, another sprinkle of snow began to descend upon him. It wasn't often that he saw the snow from this perspective; it was a beautiful sight, he had to admit.
"There," he said, sitting up. He brushed bits of snow from his hair and shook his head to remove any stubborn flakes that had managed to hold tight. "There, I made a snow angel. Now can I get up? It's freezing!"
She stood first, extending a hand to help him to his feet. Of course, now snow angel could ever be perfect; when the maker stood, he or she left behind footprints or handprints in their creation, and Abby and Tim were no different. Each of their angels had twin footprints marring them.
"Not bad," she commented, admiring their handiwork.
"You do realize that these will be gone in a few minutes, especially if the snow keeps falling like this."
"You're such a spoil sport, McGee," she retorted, sticking out her tongue good-naturedly.
They continued their walk, the snow continuing to swirl about them, like a well-choreographed choreographed routine.
And it was perfect.
