As a child, she used to love winters. On the mornings of the first snow, she would jump out of bed and rush outside—admiring how the tiny white crystals falling from the sky blanketed the whole world in white. Winters back then meant sipping toasty hot chocolate, making snow angels, singing merrily in the snow, and having snowball fights with mother and father.
Now, winters meant tedious driving, biting cold, having to get up at least half an hour earlier for work, and not getting enough sleep. She supposed that her mother was right: all things beautiful fade with time.