First Snowfall

“My, the first snowfall of the year is peaceful,” I was thinking to myself that afternoon.

That thought crossed my mind as I watched the first snow of the year fall gently on top of me. On my back, in my driveway, as I was trying to shovel away the first snowfall of the year.

I laid there for some time as I collected myself. One minute, I was pushing snow. The next, I was looking skyward.

“Are you OK?” I heard a voice call out from the distance.

I slowly made my way to my feet, making sure everything still was in one piece.

Looking around, I saw my wife, Sandra, with a worried expression on her face. She had a jacket wrapped around her shoulders and her beautiful, shoulder-length brown hair was blowing in the wind.

“I think so,” I said, trying to move my arms and shoulders. “I am not finding anything broken.”

Sandra was smiling now as she came over and grabbed my arm. “I saw you take the header from the kitchen,” she said. “It was an impressive fall.” She paused and then giggled. “Especially for how old you are.”

I gave her a semi-sour look. “Glad to provide the entertainment.”

Sandra was shivering now. She lightly kissed my cheek. “Hurry inside,” she said. “You shoveled the best you could and it is still snowing. Come on inside and get warm.”

As Sandra left I picked up my shovel which I had dropped when falling. I pushed away some more snow and decided enough was enough. I gingerly walked from the driveway through the garage into the kitchen. The light and warmth of the house started to soothe my aching body. Seeing Sanda completed the task. She was wearing jeans and wool socks. Her brown hair fell gently on her shoulders. She was wearing a buttoned-down denim shirt. The top three buttons were undone. I could see the familiar freckles dot the area about her bosom.

“How is my injured snow man?” asked Sandra as she smiled. She handed me a hot cup of cocoa and led me in to the living room couch. “Take a seat and rest up. Once it stops snowing, you will have to go out again.”

I sat wearily on the surface of the leather couch; glad to be sitting down and glad to be inside the warmth of the house. The view wasn’t so bad either. I watched from across the room as Sandra bent down to turn on the electric fireplace — her backside to me — and then walk back to the couch. Sandra laid down horizontal on the other side with her legs extending onto me, her feet on my lap.

“How are you feeling now?” she said in her soft, angelic voice. “That was a pretty nasty spill you took out there.”

I laughed, “It only hurts when I move.”

Sandra shot me a sly grin, “My hardy man of winter.”

We sat in silence for a while, watching the snow and feeling the warmth from the fireplace and from each other. After I finished my hot drink,  I looked over to see Sandra quietly dozing, her head nestled gently in the crook of her bent elbow. I absentmindedly began to gently rub her feet through her socks. I took my time. My hands slowly moved up and down the bottom of one foot and then the other. I rubbed slowly from top to bottom and then back again. I also began to extend my touch to her ankles and eventually under her pant leg to her lower calf. The rubbing went on for several minutes. Quietly and without expectation of anything else. I was content, happy and feeling better.

“It is me who should be doing that to you,” said Sandra as she started to stir. ” You are the one that did all the work outside.”

I kept rubbing her feet. “I am fine,” I said. “The longer I do this, the longer I don’t have to go outside. This beats shoveling.”

Sandra pulled her feet off my lap, pulled the socks off  and swung them to the floor. As she stood up, she said, “I can do waaaaay better than that.”

My wife walked to a spot in front of the couch in front me. Smiling that beautiful smile, Sandra began to slowly undress. She carefully unbuttoned her shirt as I watched with growing arousal. Each button was slowly undone. She used her hands to separate the sides of the