Old man and the snow.(Kevin Hughes) The old man looked at the screen. Snow was falling so hard that the players in the game between a rivalry forged over more than a century- were partially obscured by the snow.

He chuckled at his first thought:

“I wonder how many people even remember snow on a television set? Not actual snow, but the kind that was independent of the weather, but dependent on the electronic collection of vacuum tubes providing the picture.”

That thought was followed by a second, more somber thought:

“ I haven’t seen snow in fourteen years where I live now. And when I first moved here - we had at least a couple snow days, even if they were only an inch or two. Where I grew up, winter has become less of a long season, but more of a few weeks of bad weather.”

He harrumphed. He looks back at the screen. The camera man had switched during a lull in the game, to scanning the crowded stadium. Many people were covered with wet snow. Some were trying to stay warm, others were, well, shall we say “lubricated with antifreeze” provided by the Vendors at the stadium. (And a few well hidden bottles in brown bags snuck in under thick winter coats …he would wager)

Bare to the chest and filled with their own hubris - these almost all out of shape and overweight fans- provided an interesting side story to the game unfolding on the field below them.

But then the camera stopped scanning. It found a young couple, locked in an embrace that only the newly in love know how to form. The kiss was somehow passionate, yet kept the fragile beauty of a snowflake landing on a wool sweater. Its existence subject to only a fleeting moment of time. Their kiss was like that. Warm, soft, pretty, beautiful in every way, but destined to fade as soon as the embrace ended.

The old man found himself in that kiss.

He could feel her breath on his neck first, then the bottom of his jaw, and then, when his own breath was turning to join hers…a final puff against his cheek. Then her lips were on his. As soft as her lips were, they were also cold. So were his lips. But their breath, love, and tongues…were warm.

And so, like so many ancient peoples believed, magic happened. Her breath , and his breath, combined to mingle souls. Forgotten was the cold, the wet, and the game. For a moment…just like the snowflakes around them, beauty was everywhere. Time itself froze to aide in the beauty lasting just a few heartbeats more.

The kiss ended, as softly as it began. It took them both a moment to return to the reality around them. That reality was seventy thousand people madly cheering for the young couple.

“Kiss her again!”

“Lucky Dude!”

“You go girl!”

And even one cheeky guy yelling out:

“Can I have seconds?!”

Everyone laughed. The young man turned beat red that stood out against the white background around him. She turned red, but buried her head in his chest, pulling the hood of her coat over her head and neck. One of his arms pulled her even closer. The other hand waved back, and then in a quick moment of bravado - he raised his other hand in a salute and then gave the “thumbs up” gesture.

The entire seventy thousand strong throng of fans laughed in a conspiracy of young love. The camera moved back to the game.

The old man came back to real time. One Team had called a “timeout.” So he wiped a tear from his eye, swiping without effect at the memories still frozen in his mind’s eye. He got up from his recliner to make some tea. It wasn’t cold where he was, it rarely was anymore. But where his mind, heart and memory were…a cup of tea was the perfect choice.

With the lights out, he stood in the dark. The tea steeping on the counter, he gently bobbed the tea bag in the mug. The gentle dips matched by the march back in time. He was young again. So was she.

He held her close. He felt the puff of her breath on his neck. A smile grew. A second puff bounced lightly off his bottom jaw. His smile grew again. The next puff - against the side of his cheek, let the smile slip open enough to brace two cold lips as they met his with the next puff.

In the other room the Announcers cheered on a run through the snow that would end up being the game winning touchdown. In the darkened kitchen, the tea forgotten on the counter, the old man leaned back against the stove. He could feel the cold. He could hear the muffled background that falling snow seems to mute. Her lips warmed up his, and her tongue probed for his without the urgency of teen passion but with the comforting advance of long overdue affection.

He broke the kiss long enough to say her name…and: “I love you.” She opened her eyes just long enough to meet his gaze.

“I love you, too.”

Then the kiss, as if there had been no interruption at all, sealed them both back in time.

The game had ended. But the old man stayed in the kitchen. The kiss had ended in his mind, but let him take her hand in his, as they walked through the deep snow to get her home by her curfew.

A curfew set more than fifty years in the past. Was now in the present moment. His tea grew colder. His heart grew warmer.

The camera man gave one last pass over the young couple, who both waved, this time leaning heavily against one another.

In the darkened room, his memory did the same.

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