Today I disturbed Bob in the middle of a poetic moment. He had the back door open with his head poking out, just watching the snow fall. He was commenting on how wonderful and magical it looked, and I was entranced with how he seemed so happy and childlike.
Unthinking, I wrapped my arms around myself because there was a wall of cold air spilling in to the room. It would go away as soon as the door was closed, but I only realized this and thought to simply appreciate the feel of it just as he caught a glimpse of me looking cold.
He apologized as he closed the door and headed upstairs. I feel horrible, like somehow I've shot the little boy that was looking up at the snow coming down with such beautiful wonder. It's making me hesitate to go upstairs because saying something might just make it worse.
I hope we go out and make snow angels tomorrow. Maybe the little boy will come back out to play. I really want to see him again.