Flannel.

It snowed on Saturday.The streets were practically empty that morning; most people had either left town already for the holidays or didn't care to go out in the frightful weather. Just menacing enough that there was no traffic to fight; no worries about finding a parking space; no careless pedestrians hogging the sidewalks with cell phones at their ears and huge shopping bags at their sides. But the air wasn't cold enough for the snow to stick, so it made for a mess of slush that called for galoshes, not snow boots: clumps of wet, white snowdrops landing with heavy plops onto the sidewalks. Grey skies everywhere, low clouds suppressing every sound. The city was quiet but for the occasional splash of a near-frozen puddle crashing against the curb. Not the sort of weather anyone would hope for in the thick of the holiday season. It was sleeping weather.

I had a busy day planned, but for a few short hours, I didn't fight the weather. I made those grey skies my blanket, and I slept. We slept, actually, the Knight and me. We had two rare uninterrupted hours together, completely unscheduled, two hours that could have been spent doing other things. It had been a short night that ended with tears and an early morning that started with stress. After an appointment in Lincoln Park, we returned to the apartment, breaking a sweat in the radiator suffocation as we burst in the door. I shook the snowdrops out of my hair, pulled off my dripping boots and stripped down to the camisole I'd layered under my thick sweater before, nestling between my new flannel sheets before my body could change its mind and succumb to some errant draft. The headboard banged against the wall as my head hit the pillow, and I was already starting to drift when the Knight crawled in next to me, slipping his left arm under my neck and draping his right arm over mine. Proving once and for all that there is nothing sweeter on a winter day than a cool kiss between warm shoulder blades. We slept for two blissful hours. Deep, dreamy sleep.

When I finally gave into my BlackBerry's persistent 10-minute-interval alarm wails, I turned to the Knight, his blue eyes lazy with drowsiness. "Ass out of bed," I said. We're so charming to each other. His hair, as always, was a soft, tousled mess that could be tamed only with a duck under the shower spigot. My cheeks were flushed and my left shoulder covered with soft pink imprints of sheets against skin. I was renewed and refreshed but reluctant to leave the safety of bed for the cold, cruel and damp. Even for fresh-baked cookies and fig jam, my next engagement of the afternoon.

A friend told me one night, I think, about a short story he'd read where the characters could freeze time for themselves if they stayed together in bed. The world went on as usual, whirled around them outside, but they never aged. I'm not sure how the story ends — though I imagine it's not some sweet resolution to remain in bed forever — but in those few moments before I stretched my legs off the bed and made my way back into the world, that sweet resolution didn't so outlandish.