Footprints Through a Snowy Dream

It was the kind of winter morning that always begins with silence. The world outside was still, covered in a thick, pristine blanket of snow that softened every edge and muted every sound. I was sitting by the window, my face pressed against the cool glass, when the call came. A voice from the door, loud and eager, made my heart leap.

“Hey, come outside! The snow’s perfect!” It was George.

I jerked around so fast I almost tripped over the rug. There he was, just beyond the front door, grinning through his scarf like he knew exactly what he’d come to do: drag me out of my warm house into the magic.I turned to my parents, my eyes wide, pleading—what my father always called “the beggar’s eyes.” The kind that no parent could say no to without leaving a crack in a child’s heart.

“Off you go,” my mother said with a smile, though her voice carried the usual caution. “But put your gloves on. And your spikes! It’s icy out there.”

“Be careful,” Dad added ,though I think he knew I'd be anything but.

I grabbed my gloves, coat, and boots with shaking hands. My heart raced like it did before a great adventure. George was waiting, bundled in layers, his cheeks already red with the cold. Down the road, Noah and Jan were waving. The old slope that cars struggled to climb on icy mornings had become a wonderland overnight, stretching down like a snowy promise.

The cold air hit me as soon as I stepped outside, clean and sharp, the kind that woke up every part of you. The snow was everywhere—piled against fences, softening the rooftops, blanketing every jagged corner until the world looked softer, kinder.

“Come on!” George shouted, already halfway down the hill. In his hands, he held an old wooden board—nothing fancy, just a forgotten scrap of wood that snow had turned into treasure. That was the thing about snow; it turned anything into a toy.

I sprinted up the hill, grabbing a plank from the shed. Noah and Jan were at the top, grinning ear to ear.

“Ready?” Jan said, nudging me with his elbow.

“Let’s go!”

And with that, we were off—hurtling down the slope, laughing and screaming as the icy wind tugged at our coats. The road, which had been nothing but cracked asphalt a day before, was now a perfect, snowy slide. Every bump was softened, every dip concealed under a veil of soft powder. It didn’t matter if the ride was bumpy or short. We’d trudge back up, panting and determined, only to go down again. It was endless fun—the kind only winter could give.

When we grew tired of sliding, we began to stomp through the untouched snow, our footprints marking trails through the glittering white. The snow crunched beneath our boots, a satisfying sound that echoed in the stillness. Soon enough, snowballs were flying through the air. ducked, laughing, as one shattered harmlessly near my shoulder. There was no war in it—just pure, innocent play.

““Look at this!” Noah called, kneeling to gather snow. He packed it into a ball, then another, and I knew immediately what we were about to do. George and Jan joined in, and soon we were rolling snow into mounds, pushing them until they were heavy and solid. A snowman began to take shape under our hands—arms made of twigs we found sticking from hedges, buttons from stones we dug out of drifts. I found an old scarf in my pocket—forgotten from last year—and tied it around its neck. By the time we were done, our snowman stood tall and proud, watching over us like a quiet guardian of our joy.

“He needs a name,” George said.

“Snowy George!” Noah suggested with a laugh.

We all giggled, our hands numb but hearts warm. Snowy George would stay there for days—or until the sun decided to melt him away—silent proof of the magic we had made together.

But the best part of the day came next.

As the late afternoon light began to cast a golden glow over the snow, Jan spotted the old birch tree that stood by the edge of the road. Its branches, thin and spindly, were weighed down with snow, drooping like an old man’s shoulders.

“Let’s shake it,” Jan whispered, as though the tree could hear.

We gathered around, eyes bright with mischief. Together, we grabbed the trunk and shook with all our strength. For a moment, nothing happened—then the branches trembled. Snow broke free and tumbled down in great puffs, falling onto us like soft, cold magic. We shouted and shrieked, flailing our arms as we were buried in white. Snow landed in my hair, down my collar, on my cheeks, but I didn’t care. For a moment, it felt like we were inside a snow globe, the whole world spinning just for us.

Covered in snow and breathless from laughter, we stood there, huddled together, our faces turned upward. We had walked these roads a hundred times before, but today, they looked new—transformed into something magical and alive. Every corner was a canvas for snow angels, every stretch of untouched snow an invitation to run and fall and play.

As the day waned and the sun began to dip below the horizon, we wandered back up the hill. The sky turned a soft, dusky blue, and the snow on the ground seemed to glow in the fading light. Our footprints marked our path—proof of where we had been and the joy we had shared.

“See you tomorrow?” Jan asked as we reached my doorstep.

“Definitely,” I replied, though I was already feeling the tiredness settle into my limbs.

We waved goodbye, and I stepped inside, wrapped itself around me. The smell of something hearty cooking on the stove made my stomach growl. My mother took one look at me—my rosy cheeks, my damp coat, and the snow clinging to my boots—and smiled. “Had fun?”

“The best day ever,” I said honestly.

Dinner tasted better after a day like that—every bite warming me from the inside out. Afterward, I climbed into bed, my body tired but my heart light. I pulled the thick blankets up to my chin. My legs still felt heavy, as if I were trudging up the hill all over again, and my mind was full of snow-covered roads, frozen laughter, and the soft weight of snow falling on my head.

It felt like a dream—the kind of dream that lingers in your chest long after you wake. But it wasn’t a dream. It was real—a memory I could carry with me forever. I fell asleep with a smile on my face, ready to rest after a day that had been perfect in every way.

Outside, the snow kept falling, blanketing the world in white, as if to promise that tomorrow would hold just as much magic as today.