Winter Storm 

                                         By Sydney Ginsch, Amy Ginsch 

On a fresh Sunday morning, it's finally time to wake up. I rip the covers off and I step out of bed. Stretch! And I run out of my room, stomp down the stairs as fast as possible, and turn the corner to see the brightly wrapped Christmas presents. 

I sprint to the kitchen to see if Santa ate my cookies and drank my milk. Feeling the cold tiles on my bare feet as I stepped into the kitchen. I turned my head to the left as I got distracted by the whiteness outside. The white powder just trickles down from the white sky. Everything is just white. The ground, gone. The patio, covered. The cars, invisible. 

I open the big door and let out a shiver as the breeze from outside brushes against my skin. I press my head against our screen door and stare. I stare at each individual piece of snow that is falling from the sky watching it float down to the ground and blend in with the others. Feeling the frost on my forehead from the door makes me take a quick step back and I still look at the falling snow. 

I hear my mom coming down the stairs. Each step getting closer and closer and she ends up brushing against my shoulder standing right next to me. Now we are both looking at the snow. 

On a Christmas morning, everyone's dream is to have snow on Christmas day. My dream came true as my mom and I watched the snow fall on our neighborhood.