The Gift Snow Remembers — Under the hush of the snowy lane, Tolliver tucked a tiny brass bell into his mitten and carried a square box against his beard. Read the full story →
Under the hush of the snowy lane, Tolliver tucked a tiny brass bell into his mitten and carried a square box against his beard. The bell had belonged to his mother, who rang it whenever soup was ready and the windows smelled of thyme. Now he wanted to leave the box where no one would see him, beside the old snow-cloud dozing low over the pines.
Inside was not gold or candy, but a quilted cover for the cloud’s chilly toes, stitched from scraps of moon-blue cloth. Tolliver tied the ribbon with slow, careful paws. Tink, went the bell in his mitten. The cloud stirred, and six snowflakes drifted down, each taking the shape of the ribbon, the zigzags, the dots, and the little stars on his hat.
“Oh,” whispered Tolliver, “you noticed.” Then the cloud slept warmer. Ever since, winter gifts wear bright patterns and bows, so snow can remember quiet kindness. If you spot the stars and holly on Tolliver’s hat, you may find the very shapes the snow copied first.
