As I walked along the dusky dark road, the English winter this particular year was torturous to say the least. The icy wind whipping against the coat I thought would be my comfort from the cold. My face felt frozen and void of all sensation. But a smile lined my lips as I thought about the most amazing humans God had seen it fit to bless me with.

 

The shaking of my head was not the result of dismay but rather a reaction to the emotion of awe and warmth I felt when I thought about their antics as toddlers and now their battles with being young men. One minute, acts of bravado to prove they could cope but the next minute flopping down on my bed for flat-hand back rubs and some heart to heart. The beauty of that cannot be phrased in any poetic form.  Just babies we would call them in the country of my birth but in England, they are seen as adults.

 

I can see them in my minds eye and think to myself that England needs a wake up call, babies cannot be men. They still have years to grow. Typical mommy thoughts I guess. My smile breaks into soft laughter as I continue trudging along the winding road leading to our home. Snow's falling faster but I hardly notice.

 

They love that about England. Being adults that is, .................and the woods and snow. Flaky and falling like soft rain. Fireplaces and logs with leaking sticky toffee waiting to melt and crackle in the heat of the fiery torment. Thats where we lived, in the heart of the woods. Strange, so dark yet with a feeling of comfort. An old English house with a resident cat who ruled the area. Then came home to nurse her wounds, or rather to have her wounds nursed after being shown she was too old to hold her own and trust the night to roam. Thats where I was heading now. Home.

 

They would either be waiting for me or I would be there before them, then its the routine of switching on the central heating and preparing dinner. We normally enter through the basement and head up the steps leading into the kitchen. The old English kitchen with the squeeky wooden floors but which was every bit the feel of home with pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. Bare windows that allowed you to look out into the dark night watching the shadows of the overhanging trees and listening to the huge furry leaves licking against the panes.

 

As I continue my walk and I look at their faces imprinted upon my heart and which, so easily at the thought of them, appears at the windows of my soul.

 

I need to tell them how I feel. These are my aspirations as my feet touch the leafy path and my hand lifts the lock to the gate that will take me to the door of the basement and almost inside.

 

And with precision and catapaulting memories, the words tumble from my head.

 

 

Flicking the flakes of falling snow,

you touch my life in ways you'll never know.

 

I dreamed of you before you came, and before I knew it, there you were.

Almost the same, but different in face and frame.

The unbelievabe bliss when I called your name was too much for any heart to bear,

I had to share.

God, your creator, knew what He gave me when He gave me you.

Two gifts, packaged and wrapped in compassion, humour, exhortation and courage.

Wisdom beyond your years and men beyond man.

Thats the wonder of you.

All these you will carry with you as you grow

and become the men I know you are meant to be.

 

You warm my heart and inspire my every moving thought.

This heart of mine will forever be your home.

 

Flicking the flakes of falling snow

you touch my life in ways you'll never know

 

 

I reach the top of the stairs leading from the basement. I can smell something brewing.

They're here before me.......................

I am home............... I flick the flakes of fallen snow.