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We have been blanketed by another snow storm, and there is yet more snow to dig our way through this cold and bleak Monday morning. I take no pleasure in the the wintry beauty of the day, not even in Sophie’s delighted antics in the soft snow. I feel a migraine begin its insistent thrum, and descend further into gloom. Tugging at Sophie’s leash, I quicken our pace – our walk already seems too long.
As we round the corner, a father and son emerge from their front door. Shoulders hunched, glowering, they look about as happy as I feel. “Get in the car, Nicky, we’re gonna be late,” the father calls as he makes his way down the walkway.
Nicky follows, swinging his backpack slowly. He has no enthusiasm for the day; he had most likely woken up hoping for a snow day. No dice. Now there is school … just another regular, very ordinary day at school. I can feel the deep and heavy sigh that seems to be building up as he shuffles along.
Suddenly he pauses, and then I hear, “Dad!” as a perfect snowball arcs its way across the grey sky.
Shouts of laughter follow me as I make my way home, echoing and bouncing off the piles of snow. Is it my imagination, or has the sun begun to break through the clouds?