Semi-Dreaming of Snow

I could hear him moving around in the kitchen, in the edges of my sleep. I was semi-dreaming. Half-awake, half-buried in sleep. I pulled the blanket up a little to cover a gap on my shoulder, guarding against the cooler air in the room. Not cold, of course, because this is Texas and this is May. But cooler than the warm coziness under the blanket.

I remembered days like this, years ago, when he would be awake so early, making coffee and reading in the semi-dark. I remembered those days when he’d lean over the bed and kiss me goodbye before wrapping the scarf around and around and around his neck against the frigid temperatures for his walk to work. But mostly I remembered those mornings when I could hear him, in the kitchen, making coffee, with mumbles of radio weaving in and out of his moving sounds. Remembering when the mumbles would stop and he would climb back in bed, careful not to let too much cold air under the blankets, and settle back next to me, whispering, “Snow day.”