The Grove

White flakes tumble through the cool night air. They nest on the ground and the outreaching arms of leafless trees and turn the grove into a monochrome landscape of shadowy shapes.
As I add more logs to the fire, the yellow flames die out for a while. Soon though, they spring back to life, eager to devour any meal served. I watch for a while, then start back toward my truck.
I pull at the bundle; placing it on my shoulder, I notice the faint, familiar sent of you.
Another burst of white flakes soars as I unload my burden.