My eyelids ache as they slowly roll open,
Wanting to continue in sleep, disregarding the fact that I’ve overslept.
I roll onto my side, my bed a warm haven in the midst of winter.
Lazily stumbling to the window, I perch on the stool near it.
I press my warm nose to the cold surface of the glass,
Admiring the tiny, delicate crystals aligned on the outside of the pane.

I dance through the snow drifts on my way to the bus, painting pictures on the ground.
Suddenly, an orb of frigid wetness strikes my back with ferocity.
Turning, I see the smile on your face while laughter fills the air.
I pull the snow out of my hood; it falls apart into my hand.
In the mess, I single out a little pattern on the surface,
A snowflake, frozen in time until it is warm enough to be melted.

Snowflakes are like miniature stories, you know. Like people.
Each is so different from another, but some are similar.
When combined together, they make the most beautiful things.
Snowmen that fill yards. Ice crystal paintings on windshields.
Like friendship, they stick together through all kinds of cold weather.
Friendship and snowflakes are some of the most amazing things the human eye has seen.

They take me back to the times years ago when I was small,
When I would press my face to the window and watch the cascading snow.
Now, my breath clouds the glass, a reminder of the simple days of my life,
And to my delight, I sometimes notice that the world is harboring a new blanket of snow.
It starts to snow again, so I open my window; I catch a single snowflake.
I get a glimpse of its beauty before it melts on my finger.