The night before the storm, the sky felt different—quiet and heavy, like it was holding a secret. While everyone slept, soft white snowflakes began to tumble down, covering rooftops, trees, and sidewalks like powdered sugar on a giant cake.
By morning, the world had disappeared under a thick, sparkling blanket of snow.
Then it happened.
BEEP! BEEP!
Phones buzzed. Radios chimed. Moms and dads smiled.
“Snow day!”
Cheers echoed through houses up and down the street as kids leaped out of bed, still wearing pajamas, racing to the windows. Cars were buried. Fences had vanished. Even the mailbox looked like it was wearing a fluffy hat.
Breakfast was quick—because the snow was waiting.
Outside, boots crunched and scarves flapped as the neighborhood kids burst into the snowy wonderland. Snowballs flew through the air (some missing by a mile), and soon the biggest snow fort ever imagined was under construction. Someone rolled a snowball so big it took four kids to push it.
A snowman family popped up near the sidewalk—one tall, one medium, and one tiny with a crooked carrot nose. They gave them names, of course, and promised to check on them later.
Sleds zipped down hills. Laughter followed close behind. Kids made snow angels, waving their arms and legs until they looked like they could fly right up into the cloudy sky.
As the afternoon rolled in, cheeks turned pink and mittens grew soggy. One by one, kids headed back inside, leaving snowy boots by the door.
Inside smelled like cocoa and popcorn. Wet socks hung by the heater, and everyone curled up with blankets to watch the snow keep falling outside the window.
That night, as the storm finally slowed, the world sparkled under the moonlight—quiet, bright, and brand new.
The snow day would end tomorrow.
But the memories?
Those would last forever.
