I had this one a few weeks ago:
Today was the first snow of the season. It was just a little bit, you had to squint to see the flecks in the air. Mippa had decided not to wear a coat.
“Aren’t you cold?” I asked her as I carried her home, craning my neck and boosting her up on my hip to see her face.
“Yes I’m cold!” she declared, wrapping her arms around my neck and snuggling determinedly into my coat.
I tried to wrap my scarf around her, but it was awkward, with just the one arm available for the task. She seemed more interested in the snuggling anyway, so I hugged her close instead as we walked.
We were passing the old bike shop on the corner when I noticed the snow in the air. It’s a funny place, that old shop; a piece of Japan left untouched since at least 40 years ago. The dingy yellow light glowing from the crumbling awning out front caught the white flecks against the darkness of the old wood and the shadowy interior, and I stopped.
“Mippa,” I said into her dark hair, cool against my cheek, “It’s snowing.”
She pulled back, turning the wrong direction in my arms to look out into the street, “Where?”
“Look, right there,” I told her, pressing my face close to her little one and looking into the bike shop. She aligned her face with mine, and we stood still for one moment in the cold street, waiting. Two flecks fell, catching the light.
“Ah, hontto da,” she said, sounding just a little bit delighted, and rested her head back on my shoulder. Through the dusty glass I caught the curious eye of the old man at the back of the bike shop as he looked up from his ancient TV set.
I think I smiled.