Frosty flakes fall from the sky and build up on my windowsill. There’s fog on the window, where the chilly fog has not reached the warmth in my house and the chill outside. So I fly down the stairs in my PJs and have some toast. I bundle up and go to the swing. I brush off magic, white powder and pump my legs. I see the brown trees and pine cones and see the green pine trees. I pump my legs to the snowy, white sky. I jump off the swing and run home to cuddle up with my mom and read a Christmas book. We have Christmas cookies and sip a warm, chocolatey drink. We sip our cocoa while small flakes fall.


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