The snow fell down in big fat flakes, peppering the pavement. We watched it from the kitchen window.
“We should go outside,” I said, hurrying him along. “It’s probably not going to stick.”
He rushed for the shoe bin, pulled out his shoes. “Why won’t it stick?”
I pulled on my coat. “It’s really wet out there. And it’s not very cold. It will melt when it hits the ground.”
He ran to the door. “I hope it sticks,” he said.
“Coat?” I asked. “Gloves?”
“Yeah.” He pulled them on faster than I’d ever seen. Usually the ritual at the door takes long enough for me to drink my whole cup of coffee. I set it down on the counter.
We pulled the door open and went outside into the falling sky. He pulled melted snow cones off the car and threw them at me. I laughed and didn’t flinch. They were small.
Soon, the snow stopped. We went back inside; put our gloves on the heater.
We read books and drew dragons. We drank chocolate milk.
The day slowed down.
I worked on these wings:
Reference coming tomorrow. Cuddled up in blankets tonight.