The sprinkling of soft snow through ancient pines-remember?
The ice sparkling on the lake like mirrored glass-remember?
Your gloved hand touching mine for the time-remember?
Those days seem so close, as if I could reach out and touch them, yet my heart knows that time has passed and life has changed, you are there and I am here, We were young and now are old. Still, somehow, that day, that place that touch will remain with me forever. It truly defines the word-remember.
beebeesworld 
Sandra Bennett said,
November 13, 2013 @ 3:03 am
Stirring my mind to when a friend foolishly wore her white, cotton, crocheted gloves to play outdoors in the ice and snow…Hardly the type she should have worn, especially without asking her mother . With a long, creosoted pole she prodded the ice near the creek’s shoreline in order to break through it. Suddenly the palms of both gloves developed gigantic holes. Her eyes widened with fear as she quickly tore them off, and we both watched them sink ever deeper into the brown creek water as she got rid of the evidence…Neither of us said a word…A silent understanding.
beebeesworld said,
November 13, 2013 @ 3:04 am
Interesting story, san, love ya.b.
vicbriggs said,
November 13, 2013 @ 3:43 am
“Your gloved hand touching mine”
– closeness and distance. intimacy yet detachment. Love it 🙂
cherylmoore said,
November 13, 2013 @ 11:24 am
This is beautifully written, Beebee.
Judy said,
November 13, 2013 @ 4:20 pm
There is a mystery here. The gloved hand – was it a former lover? Your young son? I like your writing style very much. 🙂
beebeesworld said,
November 14, 2013 @ 1:03 am
Thanks-sometimes a thought will come to me that stretches the mind to new depths-i just wish it happened more often! beebee