Kidy
It happens while you are eating breakfast, little one. The window goes quiet and white, and the first snow of the whole year comes down in slow, fat, tumbling flakes. You are out the door before your second boot is even on, and Growy comes skidding after you into a world gone soft.
Growy stands very still in the middle of it, ears full of snow, and makes a solemn announcement: 'I am going to catch the most perfect snowflake in the world. And then I am going to keep it. Forever. In my pocket.' Growy pats the pocket. It looks like a very serious plan.
You hold out your mitten and one lands right on it. You lean in close, so close your nose almost touches, and oh! There is a tiny star inside it. A real one, with points and lines and little branches, and it is not like any other. 'Growy, LOOK!' you shout. But by the time Growy looks, there is only a small wet dot on the wool. You catch another. Also a star. Also gone.
Growy's pocket is soggy and empty, and Growy's ears droop all the way down. 'I wanted to keep one,' Growy says, very quietly. You put your mitten next to Growy's paw, and this time you both watch the same flake at the same moment, together, until it melts. Growy sniffs. 'Some beautiful things are not for keeping,' Growy says. 'They are for right now.'
You walk home through the falling snow, and Growy's pocket is still wet, but Growy is smiling. 'I kept one after all,' says Growy, tapping the side of its head. 'The one we looked at together.' Then Growy asks, 'So, little one... did we grow a little today?' You did. 'Here is your little grow for tomorrow,' says Growy. 'Share one look with somebody. Point at something, and wait until they see it too.' See you tomorrow, little one.