When you’re a kid, snow isn’t weather.
It’s permission.
Permission to wake up to silence.
To see the world slowed, softened, reset.
School disappears. Time stretches.
The rules loosen.
Snow days feel infinite because responsibility hasn’t arrived yet.
Nothing is waiting on you.
Nothing is urgent.
You don’t check forecasts for inconvenience.
You hope for magic.
At some point, snow becomes something to manage.
Something to shovel.
Something to commute through.
But once, it was pure joy.
Cold hands. Wet socks. Red cheeks.
And the certainty that today was different.
Some days still carry that feeling.
They’re rare.
But you know them when they arrive.
Who needs to hear this?
Anyone who forgot what an unplanned gift feels like.
For today:
The next time life cancels your plans, don’t fill the gap. Go outside instead.
🎵 Snow – Red Hot Chili Peppers
📖 Frosty the Snowman
JANUARY 2, 2026