I want snow.
Fat, fluffy, flakes of snow.
Glinting crystalline intricacies that fall softly, silently.
I want the silence.
The muffled, whispered stillness.
I want a wood stove.
A fired, heat-throwing wood stove.
A jolly, warm-you-to-the bone wood stove puffing tendrils of sweet-scented smoke.
I want the warmth.
The contented, comforting warmth.
I want my blanket.
My soft, knitted, woolen blanket.
My toe-warming, draft-fighting, perfect-for-snuggling-under blanket.
I want to snuggle.
The heart-healing joy of physical closeness.
I want my family.
Husband, son and daughter.
I want to hear the laughter and banter and sighs of contentment.
I want love.
The happy familiar love of family.
Is it too much to ask?