Snow on the Windowsill

Snow on the Windowsill. The house was very quiet. It was the kind of quiet that feels like a soft woollen blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Outside, the winter sky was a deep, dark blue. It was time for sleep, but the world outside was just waking up in a different way. Leo lay curled up in his warm bed. The duvet was pulled right up to his chin. It was thick and fluffy. His room was dim, lit only by the golden glow of the streetlamp outside the window. The radiator clicked and hummed a gentle song. It was the perfect night to be inside. But Leo was not asleep yet. His eyes were wide open, looking at the glass. He blinked slowly. The window looked like a dark picture frame waiting for a painting. And then, the painting began. At first, it was just a single speck of white. It drifted down from the sky, rocking back and forth in the air. It landed on the windowsill with a silent grace. Then Leo saw another one. It was joined by two more. Then ten. Then fifty. The snowflakes were falling. They did not fall fast. They did not rush. They took their time, floating down through the cold air as if they were lighter than feathers. Leo sat up a little bit. He rested his chin on his knees. He wanted to see them better. He watched one specific flake. It was large and clustered, like a tiny piece of lace. It swirled to the left... then it swirled to the right... and finally, it settled on the glass. It stuck there for a moment. It looked like a star with six perfect points. "Hello," whispered Leo. He leaned closer. His breath made a little patch of white fog on the cold glass. He watched the fog fade away, revealing the snow again. The snow was falling thicker now. It was a curtain of white polka dots. Some of the flakes were heavy and fell straight down, like little stones dropped into a pond. Plop. Plop. Plop. Others were light and danced in the wind. They spiralled up and down, playing a game of tag before they decided to land. It was wonderful to watch. It made everything feel slow. And Leo felt very calm. He looked down at the windowsill. A small pile of white was building up in the corner. It looked soft, like cotton wool. He imagined what it would feel like to touch it. It would be cold and wet, but crisp. The streetlamp made the snow glitter. It looked like someone had spilled a jar of diamond dust over the garden. The familiar shapes of the swing set and the garden bench were disappearing. They were turning into soft, white mounds. Everything jagged was becoming smooth. Everything loud was becoming quiet. Leo let out a long, happy sigh. The movement of the snow was hypnotic. Down, down, down it drifted. It was a lullaby for his eyes. His eyelids began to feel heavy. The cozy warmth of his room felt even better when he looked at the freezing cold outside. He snuggled deeper into his pillow. "It is beautiful," thought Leo. He watched one last flake. It was a tiny one, drifting all alone. It floated past the window, taking its time, in no rush to get to the ground. It reminded him that there was no need to rush either. The world was slowing down. The trees were standing still. The grass was sleeping under a white blanket. Leo yawned a big, wide yawn. The radiator hummed on. The house creaked gently, protecting him from the chill. The snow kept falling, silent and steady, covering the world in magic while he watched from his safe, warm tower. He closed his eyes for a second... and then opened them again. The snow was still there. It would be there in the morning, bright and waiting for footprints. But for now, it was just for looking. Slowly, Leo lay back down. He pulled the covers up to his ear. The pillow felt cool against his cheek. The image of the dancing white stars was still in his mind. One flake. Two flakes. Three flakes. The world was white and silent. "Goodnight, snow," whispered Leo. And then, everything was still. The end.