Okay, how does this work again? You stick your tongue out and what happens?
This pair didn't much care to play in the snow. "We'll spoil our pretty dancing slippers!," they cried, making a fuss and carrying on until it was finally decided everyone would be better off if the dollies just stayed inside and admired themselves.
"What I wouldn't give for a chance to fly south," sighed the old brown bird. "Pooh, you're nothing but a sparrow!," sniffed the dollies, "A cast iron sparrow with painted wings!"
Such a paucity of good manners! Oh, but those dollies were due a comeuppance, and I know just the bad mice for the job!
A standoff against the neighborhood boys. Who will throw the first unnegotiated snowball and shatter the détente? Why, Izzy, of course!
Come inside, dearie, where it's nice and warm! Ah, but is anyone allowed?
Just as I thought: redheads only!
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Oh, dear reader, I cannot begin to express how elated I was to see tiny wet flakes hurrying to the ground this morning! I even let Izzy quit practising her violin a full ten minutes early! Who can slave over Mozart when there is dancing and singing and spinning around the house to be accomplished?! And by the time I'd taken the girls to school, the flakes were bigger, fluffier, more aimless and prolific, and they just continued on their lazy, meandering way until nightfall. It was beautiful, magical, and I am altogether charmed by its spell!
This evening, under the cloak of darkness, I stared out the window at our snowy grass (such a rare sight!), and felt as though I could almost see back to my childhood--to a wintery, moonlit view overlooking a huge backyard that led to pillowy pastures, sloping up a hill where perched a little house (whose occupant, I felt certain at the time, was a witch) on the edge of a ghostly forest and the mountains beyond.
Do you have pictures like that in your mind?