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Winter Games

Mittened hands
Grasp at the cold flakes.
Scooping piles of snow
And molding them into crude spheres.
Eyes scan for the next target—
Spotted.
Whipping through the crisp air
It explodes in all directions upon contact.
A burst of laughter erupts
As the snow covered child prances away
Retreating to the battered fort behind him.
The battle roars on
Until toes begin to freeze
And icy water soaks through the knitted fabric,
Fingers no longer shielded from the frosty snow.
The children run inside to
A crackling fireplace and steaming hot chocolate,
Knowing their little game
Will pick up right where it left off
Tomorrow.



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