"cold cold cold fudge"
Winter is not my favorite season.
Summer is easy and sultry, carefree and lively. Troubles just seem to melt away in the blazing sunshine.
Winter brings harsh realities to the surface, outlined against the sky like the barren trees. Truths that cannot be escaped as courage is whipped away by arctic winds. A feeling of longing pierces my soul, just as freezing temperatures penetrate my physical being.
As the holidays approach, I long for my amazing mom's homemade fudge. The fudge I haven't tasted in 15 years, but will always and forever taste in my memories. The only "cold cold cold fudge" I've ever experienced. The way she rushed the hot pan from the cozy warm kitchen to the outside nature-made cooler in the snow. The way I had better watch out if I happened to be in her path - this was serious business! And then the ultimate shared laugh as I mockingly, yet lovingly, imitated her crazy movements.
I miss her, with a longing so deep down inside it takes my breath away. She was everything good and right and safe and fiercely protective.
She was Christmas. She was Love.
I miss her fudge.
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