"Can we play in the snow now?" said the boy, his little body still warm from his bed, his eyes still unfocused with sleep. "Can we? Can we?"
"We can play in the snow after breakfast," I said, holding his wriggling body at the window and watching the snowflakes sprinkle the the world
"Right now?" he asked, just as he always does.
"No," I said, setting him down and turning my face again to the snow. "First we're going to eat pancakes."
And so began the first snow day of the season. A day of swirling flakes that brushed against the window pane and then dropped dreamily to the earth. A day of pancakes and snow boots and puddles on the kitchen floor. A day of snowball fights and footprints and roaring fires and sky gazing. A day alive with the excitement of Daddy unexpectedly at home and tingling with the promise of more snow in the night. A day of cold promise and spiralling magic.
The first day of snow.