My scarf and hat hide my face. My chunky pants hardly let me walk. I shuffle through a fresh patch of snow.
I look up, but all I can see is a light gray sky, with millions and millions of tiny white dots parading down onto the streets of Chicago.

“Shhhhwishhhshhhh…”
The wind blows all the tiny snowflakes in one direction.

They hit a store window.

It’s a flower shop. Frost is climbing up onto its display window. A tiny circle is untouched, just enough for me to see through.

My stuffy pink nose pats the humid glass.

There are a lot of white flowers, all smushed together as if they were trying to keep warm.

Roses,
Daisies,
Poppies,
Tulips,
Lilacs,
Posies,
Lillis.

I can see the tiny dots of pollen inside their out stretched petals, as if they want a hug. All the flowers are white. White like the snow on Huckle Berry Street.

All the flowers are strung into the shape of a snowflake.

I remember the first time I saw snow. I held a big mug of hot chocolate in my hands. “You see that snowflake on my hand?” My papa would say to me. “You can search for a million years and never find a snowflake like this one. You will never ever find another snowflake as beautiful as this one.” Papa would let the wind blow the snowflake away. “Bye-Bye snowflake.” I’d wave my little hand.” And it’s the same with you.” Papa would smile.” There will never be another baby girl as magical as you.” I miss my papa.

My papa made that display. I hope they never take it down. I hope they never take my papa’s display down.

Because they’ll never find another one like it.