It is snowing.
It is snowing and I have already gone up to the park with the boy for massive sledding excursion. Hurtling downhill screaming, then rolling downhill laughing, then stopping, moving arms and legs back and forth to make angels. 
It is snowing and I have dragged said boy on said sled through piles of fresh powder across the baseball fields and past the band shell watching as the wind pulls small white dust into little tornadoes that I tell myself are made of some ancient magic crafted