In the Snow I Hear My Father’s Love

My father would stay home from work when the first snow of the year landed. He would allow us to miss school. The night before, he would watch the furious sky. A curious orange glow lit the sky. He watched like a fascinated child. He would take notes, and his eyes would glow like the sky. I used to find it odd. My mother would joke about his childlike curiosity, and I would laugh. He prayed for snow, and it always did. He prayed to spend the day with us. It was a cold January morning. My room was dark. I turned to my right to see the pine tree, uncomfortably close to my window, swaying. It was draped in fresh, powdery snow. I could see thin flakes falling. It looked glacial out there. I could almost feel the chilblains. I could feel my lips forming into an irresistible smile. My heart felt warm. <a href="https://medium.com/the-narrative-arc/in-the-snow-i-hear-my-fathers-love-8c81976cd25f">Read More</a>