Snow Tastes Good

She couldn't see me but I could see her.  From her vantage point on the playground she could see only a wall of bright reflective mirrors.  She didn't know that I was just on the other side of those tinted windows in the staff lunch room, trying to catch my breath between classes.  I watched as she climbed atop a hill of piled snow her two black braids bobbing under her heavy pink toque with a huge pompom on the top.  Reaching the top of her mountain she stood to face her mirrors, caught up for a moment in her reflection.  She smiled, twisted her braids, smirking at herself and then, with a grin, plunged both of her mittened hands deep into the snow, pulled a huge mound of it to her mouth and took a missive bite.  I laughed but she couldn't hear me.  Grinning even more now an her snow covered face she twisted back and forth in front of her mirror as she ate and then she went back in for a second round.  She did this over and over, joyously chomping away and her snowy feast, her dark braids now covered with the white fluff.  She was the essence of childhood at that moment.  I wished I had my camera.  How beautiful.