In this day and age, the air is warm. So warm that the snow storms decided to turn to rain storms and the once crisp-brick air is now soft.  Snow storms seem to be a figment of imagination now. And if it does snow it doesn’t stick, leaving a trace. Not even a snowflake as a signature that it was there. 

I remember those snow storms that would leave a foot of snow outside my front door. I remember looking outside watching it fall thinking that God was dropping cotton from the sky. I remember also knowing that the next day I would be able to play in this cold cotton and have the time of my life. Playing in the snow is one of my favorite memories. I wish I had another chance to do it again, like I did when I was younger.

If I had another chance, I would wake up early and put on five layers of clothes, just enough to keep me warm, and prevent the snow from getting me wet. Then I would go outside, jump into the snow, lay on my back, and look at the sky. From there I will just lay there and watch. I would watch the sky change from all different shades of gray, and watch how the once tiny white dot would turn into the biggest snowflake ever. Each one different from the rest. 

And once I had my fix of childish joy, I would come inside, warm up, get some soup and relax, happy to have a second chance.