My father would stay home from work when the first snow of the year landed. He would allow us to miss school.
The night before, he would watch the furious sky. A curious orange glow lit the sky. He watched like a fascinated child. He would take notes, and his eyes would glow like the sky. I used to find it odd. My mother would joke about his childlike curiosity, and I would laugh. He prayed for snow, and it always did. He prayed to spend the day with us.
It was a cold January morning. My room was dark. I turned to my right to see the pine tree, uncomfortably close to my window, swaying. It was draped in fresh, powdery snow. I could see thin flakes falling. It looked glacial out there. I could almost feel the chilblains. I could feel my lips forming into an irresistible smile. My heart felt warm.