Faith and the Last Snow Day
What follows is the text of a story written by my youngest daughter. It is unedited and is just the way she wrote it. For context, we have been stuck in the house for two weeks already due to the coronavirus. Bavaria instituted controls before the rest of the country, and then began a (well-enforced) lockdown procedure also before the rest of Germany. In addition to me starting telework, Faith’s school went into online version and one of her assignments was to start a journal. She also has typing practice and writing prompts but neither this piece nor the history of Toy Country (which may later be featured here, too) were a result of her school work. This was just her passing time.
Perhaps I should have expected an output such as this from her simply from seeing the title of her journal “The Day the World Went Home” but this story really grabbed me. I fear she may beat me to publication.
On 31 Mar 2020 it began to snow, It is probably the last time we’ll see snow this year. In our backyard are a swings, a treehouse, and a koi pond with a bridge over it. Most of our meals during lockdown are eaten in the living room where we try to watch a movie or show as a family and for the most part she sits with her plate on the hearth of the fireplace rather than her lap.
The snowflakes fall heavily in the afternoon, as I glance outside of my window, smiling at the sight of snow. The snow falls on the trees, and everything else that remains motionless. The trees start to shake with the wind blowing between their branches. They shake as if they do not like the snow. I sit in the swing, looking up at the sky. A snowflake lands on the lense [sic] of my glasses. It melts and makes a splotch. I frown. But, then, I remember one thing. The treehouse. I run on the cold, snowy grass and climb the ladder, swiftly. I go through the passageway in the treehouse, glancing outside. I pretend I am an eskimo, trying to stay warm in a small, elevated, shaggy, run-down house. I lay Mister Stork and Lamby down as I walk, barefooted, in my thin hoodie, to the tiny hallway, exposed to the open. I stare at the sky once more. I then hear my mother’s voice, “Dinner, dear!” She calls. I grab Lamby and the stork and jump down my ladder. I dash over not-so-green grass in my barefooted toes. I run across the brid[g]e and nearly fall in the koi pond. I run inside and slam the door, realizing I still have the splotch on my glasses sense [sic]. “Honey bun?” My mother asks. “Coming,” I reply, cooly. My mother and father sit on the couch. I sit at the fireplace hearth with mashed potatoes and roast beef. “Wait!” I exclaim. “What about the blessing?” So all the family (including the stork and lamb) say the blessing and get in on our delicious meal.
