Materospanodon

SnowThere was never any snow where I was living at the time my parents died. I used to spend the mornings with a mug in my hands and my knees wrapped in a blanket, staring out my tiny, smudged window at a dull, frozen wasteland. My father always used to say that snow was the last pure thing on earth. I dont know why; it fell from the same clouds and sky that the rain did. My aunt called me the one morning I thought I saw flurries. I stared hard out the window for a few moments, searching for the movement I had seen only a moment before. The ringing trilled persistently behind me. Finally, I stood and stretched, put my mug down oSnow