There’s no snowfall like the first; none as pure or pristine. No snowflakes adhere to eyelashes like the first and none taste as sweet. No snowfall’s like that first. None after will be as white, like pixie dust, like childhood. Childhood falling from the sky. The first snowfall sticks to my windows like no other. The snowflakes write me messages, the first snowflakes. They write music on my windows and rock me to sleep, singing words that taste like Christmas. No snowfall is as gentle as the first, none as fair and benign. No snowflake is as beautiful as the first. It’s intricate like a sculpture of a million crystals. It’s the most beautiful for it’s the first. Snowflakes from then on are stale and tired. But the first snowflake…the first snowflake is beautiful.