A Winter Snow
When I think back upon the memories of my childhood, I clearly recall a specific winter afternoon at my grandmother’s house. It is an especially cold day, I remember. I am dressed in two pairs of thick socks, two sweatshirts, a heavy winter coat, and my bright pink rain boots. I am nine years old, and to me, winter snow is pure magic.
As I step out onto my grandmother’s back porch, I remember losing my breath, not only from the bitter cold, but also from the captivating scene. I am immediately taken aback by the view. The entire ground, as far as my eyes can see, is coated in a hefty blanket of solid white. The light seems to dance atop the snow, making it glitter wherever the sun shines. All the trees around are snowcapped, as if sprinkled with powdered sugar. Out in the distance, I gaze upon a small red bird scratching around in the snow, searching for food it seems. Its red feathers are a sharp contrast to the white snow. Swiftly, the bird leaps into the air and makes its way over to the birdbath. Alas, the bird seems disappointed to find the water frozen.
Ultimately, I cannot help myself. I dart down the brick steps, squealing with excitement as I run, and hurl myself onto the newly cushioned ground. Extending my arms and legs as far as they can reach, I begin making a snow angel. I can feel the cold wet of the earth making its way through the gloves on my hands. I rise off the ground to look at my creation, and just next to my angel wings, I find tiny animal paw prints. Curious, I am instantly set to investigate. I follow the paw prints around the perimeter of the yard and stumble on the perpetrator. I find my grandmother’s dog, Chip, a few yards away, leaping into...