Drabble 4: Snowflake.

The snowflakes fell like abominable gray ashes. The girl spread her bare, mitten-less hands wide above her head. She imagined every snowflake was a forgotten "I love you" spread wide across the sky.

The clouds went about collecting the neglected love and then it fell softly at people's feet all over again. "I love you," the snowflakes whispered past her ears.

Love was falling to the ground that day.

It melted and seeped into her socks. It tickled her feet until they were numb. The girl had barely stepped outside and already she couldn't tell the difference between the numbness in her feet and the numbness in her heart.

"I love you!" She shouted to the sky, just to see how it would feel, and then she whispered it steadily to herself in time with her heartbeat. Love on repeat until love lost its meaning and the snow became snow again.

"Honey?" The man found her in her nightgown and cold stocking feet. "What are you doing out here?"

She pivoted on her heel and turned toward him. "Daddy?" She asked, blinking the snow from her eyelashes.

"What, hon?" He reached for her hand, and together they started back to the farm house.

"Did mommy like the snow?"

Her daddy stopped and knelt next to her. "She used to build snowmen. Would you like to build one?"

The girl shook her head. "I don't like the snow." She said. "It's always falling, and it melted in my socks."

"Then we'd better get you some new socks, huh?" He smiled at her.

The girl nodded, and they started back toward the house again.

"Daddy?" The little girl bit her lip, glancing down at the imprints her feet left in the white covered ground. "Did you cry when the lake took mommy?"

"Yes," her father answered simply, opening the door as they stepped into the house. He lifted her onto the kitchen counter and pulled off her wet socks.

"Did you cry because you love her?" The girl watched the man as he pulled two mugs down from the high self and set the kettle on the stove.

"Of course, I loved your mother," he said.

"Loved her or love her?" The girl asked. She'd just been learning about past and present tense in school. What if love was only past tense?

Her daddy frowned as he grabbed the dish towel and dried the ends of her wet hair. "You might not understand now," he told his daughter, "but someday you will. Until then you're going to have to trust me, okay?"

The girl nodded. "About what?"

"Someday, you'll realize that love isn't just a verb. You know what a verb is, don't you?"

"Something you do. Like jump," The girl said. She loved words. She loved their meanings. She loved their uses.

"Well love isn't only something you do," the man said. "I love. I loved. And I had love."

The girl was confused. She watched as he poured the hot water into the two mugs and made them tea. He lifted her off the counter and pulled her to the table.

"Careful, it's really hot," he cautioned her. She nodded absently.

"Dad, how can you have love? You can't have a verb. You can't have jump."

"But I told you," he reminded her gently, "love is not only a verb."

"Then what is it?" The girl's blue eyes reminded her dad very much of her mother's.

"A gift," he told her. "Your mother's love was a gift. And so is yours."

The girl was quiet as she watched the snow through the window. And then, "Dad?" she asked.

The man laughed a little. "What, Hon?"

"My teacher said that each snowflake is unique."

"Oh?" The man stared out the window and sipped his tea.

"Gifts are unique too."

It was not the first time that his daughter surprised him with her observations. 


Notes: ... This makes me miss Ingrid's dad a little. #loving my characters too much