In response to WordPress’s Daily Prompt, “Bookworms.”
Snow, snow. All of us in the Northeastern United States know your presence. When you first come, you are so beautiful. Your first hours of birth are usually very quiet – no traffic can be heard from outside. It’s a beautiful sound, the quiet. Sometimes children’s laughter can be heard as they play in it; or dogs can be heard barking as they joyfully pretend the snow is a impish friend. The trees and their branches are decorated with your gentle flakes, looking as if they belong in a glittery wonderland. It’s just too bad that when you’re all done falling, the snow plows come, the driveways and sidewalks are shoveled, dogs are walked, and cars emerge once again, bringing grime to your perfect whiteness.