by Sharon Yeates

Created on: June 23, 2009

Snowflakes danced on their way from heaven to earth, twirling and spinning in the magical silence that slips out when the last of the party goers have fallen asleep and the night shift has yet to begin their journey home. Above, the sky was a magical curtain of black velvet through which pinpricks of light escaped, breathing life into the fairy-like snowflakes. Below, the world was glistening diamond that sparkled and reflected back the starlight in tiny rainbows of color.

Mesmerized, certain I'd discovered some secret stairway into heaven, I crept out on the big veranda porch in nothing but a flannel nightgown, my grandmother's quit draped around my shoulders. The world was asleep, and I was alone with God. It was wrong to walk through the pristine blanket of snow, wrong to disturb such perfection. Somehow I knew this, though I was less than seven at the time. So I curled up on the large brick extensions that formed the sides of the steps leading up to the high southern porch, and watched the stars begin to fade away, surrendering their time on stage to the first rays of sunlight.

Behind me, a voice called my name, and I knew I should call back, but sound did not belong in this place. So i remained silent. Behind me, the sound of boots on wood told me that my father was near. A creak of a hinge, and then strong, comforting arms draped a robe, his own, over my shoulders.

"Hon? Is everything all right? Its cold out here. Do you want to come in? I'll make a fire in the fireplace."

I shook my head, not looking at him. Knowing, as I always knew, that he would understand. Others would not, but he would understand. "Is it magic?"

Silence, and then his lips turned up in a smile. "Yes, it is. Its God's magic though."

Boots again, this time softer, the father now as protective of the silence as the child was. When the hinge creaked again, my father emerged with more quilts to tuck around me, and cocoa in his hands. "Scoot."

I scooted, and his arm went round my shoulder, pulling me in. The stars finished their exit dance, the sun painted the sky a beautiful rainbow of pink and orange and yellow. The last snowflakes settled atop the first, and the world around us began to come alive with the music of dawn, and the scent of breakfast in a dozen homes began to drift over us.

"Hungry?"

A nod, and in return a smile, and then I was in his arms, quilts and cocoa with me, and the moment slid into that special place inside my heart where it would be preserved until it was needed. And when it was needed, years after his death, it would reach out, and slip around me as his arm had that morning, warming me, assuring me of love, with words of love never having to be spoken.

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