DAILY SNACK
As winter spits out its last icy remnants,
And the deck is coated with a fine dusting of barely there snow,
A boy presses his nose against the screen door.
Can we make snow angels, Mom?
How about snow men?
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DAILY SNACK
As winter spits out its last icy remnants,
And the deck is coated with a fine dusting of barely there snow,
A boy presses his nose against the screen door.
Can we make snow angels, Mom?
How about snow men?
Rebecca Cuneo Keenan is a writer who lives in Toronto with her husband and three children.
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