(I couldn't just tell one story. Of course I couldn't just tell one story. So you're getting TWO. Second place today, first place tomorrow--- aren't you lucky?)
Childhood is so full of firsts, they pile up like leaves--- drifting underfoot, the colors of each lost in the jumble.
And then one first is pulled into focus, brought close to the face for careful examination.
How does it smell?
That first real touch of snow, a snow you can remember in your teeming nearly-three-year-old brain.
How does it feel?
The cold of it shocking your soft skin. There's a fresh zing of ice catching on your cheeks as I watch you run face-first into the flurries of white.
How does it taste?
Open your mouth, just like this. Catch the snowflakes on your tongue. Delicious.
This is how you do it: develop a taste for snow. It grows on you throughout the day, warm snug inside the house, watching the drifts gather on the porch steps. Until you decide you have to taste it again, bundled in fleece, hair in braids. Welcome to a winter tradition, little one.