The Blanketing Snow (A Fairy Tale Revisited)

After midnight, the snow began to fall more heavily—puffs of white wonder, glistening in the bright, night sky.

Lying awake in the bed beside him, she couldn’t see the snow, but she could imagine it clinging fast to the roof, burrowing into the shingles’ cracks, weighing down the tender branches of the sapling just off the front steps, smothering the yard. The weatherman on the news had promised six to nine inches by morning, nine to twelve by early afternoon, and the drifts, she knew, would be even deeper in the woods surrounding the house. No, she couldn’t see the snow, but from the cold air straining through the caulking around the windowsills, she felt certain it was falling faster and that the wind had grown more brisk. Their home was no longer tight.

“This means we can get new windows soon,” he whispered, as if reading her mind. She wasn’t certain whether to be comforted or not by the fact that he too was still awake.