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.
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