We shuffled down the path, keeping our heads down against the frigid wind. Baxter ran ahead of us, darting between the trees, barking and chasing some invisible entity. I hummed to myself--some Christmas carol that had been playing on the radio during the drive over. Alex was silent. Hands shoved into his pockets, he kept his gaze straight ahead when I looked over, occasionally kicking the snow at our feet and sending a flurry of snowflakes into the air. I sighed.

The wind picked up and the trees quivered against the cold force of it, the sky darkening to a silvery gray. I rubbed my hands together, trying to bring the feeling back to my fingers. My face was stinging, probably red as a tomato. This walk was not turning out how I imagined.

“Maybe we should head back.”

I agree, and Alex whistled to call Baxter back to us. My dog appeared farther down the path, a blotch of black against the whiteness, and came bounding back towards us with his tail wagging. The three of us made our way back to the car, leaving a trail of prints in the snow.