It snowed on the last day of January.
I rose before the sun and peaked through the blinds to see the stillness, broken only by the steady stream of flurries floating past the glass. I tucked my hands to my sleeves and before crawling back into bed. Pulled the blankets up over my ears and curled my knees to my chest and listened to myself breathe until I fell asleep.
The proper morning came and I opened the blinds to watch the snow build on the branches. A bowl of cereal and slice of toast. A makeup-free face and fuzzy socks.
In the afternoon, my roommates and I walked along a trail, bundled up in hats and boots and gloves. Snowflakes caught in my hair and melted on my cheeks and crunched under my feet. We pulled the cheap sleds out of the garage and trekked up to the corner of the backyard before careening down, right into the fence at the bottom of the hill.
It snowed on the last day of January and it was perfect.
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