When I was a kid, I loved the possibility of a snow day.
When it was supposed to snow, I’d cut off my light, climb under my blanket, and dream of the snowflakes that’d land on my frozen window.
Early in the morning, I’d open my eyes slowly and hope with all of my heart for a snow covered ground.
Sometimes, it’d be.
I’d climb out from under my blanket and tip toe to my Mom and Dad’s bedroom.
“Is there school today?” I’d whisper.
“It’s a snow day. You can go back to bed,” they’d whisper back.
I’d run as fast as my feet could carry me and jump as high as my legs
could take me back into my bed and count the snowflakes that’d land on my frozen window.
Still, I love the possibility of a snow day.
I’m counting the snowflakes now.
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