December 2008
1 post
Grown Up.
Outside my window, snowflakes tiptoe across gusts of wind before parachuting to the ground.
Fifteen stories below my window, a young boy reaches down to pick up a handful of greyish-white powder off the ground and comes up with a mitten-full of densely-packed snow. He cups his other mitten over the pile in his hand in an attempt to form a vaguely-spherical snowball ready to be thrown at the...