Mom said I would love all the snow in Nevada. Yeah, right. I miss California—there’s never snow there. Mom and my little sister call it fairy dust. I call it fairy yuck.

I walk to the bus stop with my sister, bundled up in all these ridiculous clothing. She’s stepping in the snow, picking some up and licking it from her mitten. I’m trying not to think about how cold it is.

My sister bounces around, not just on the sidewalk, but on people’s yards as well. She flops down on one yard, and moves her arms and legs about before I yank her up. “Look, a snow angel!” She cries, but I have dragged her along far enough that we can’t see it.

She bounds up to a small sapling, covered in snow. “Look!” She says, in awe. “Look at this!” Grumpily, I decide just to go see whatever it is.

“What?”

Then I see. Water has dripped of a branch, freezing in place like mini icicles. The light shines through them. It’s a beautiful sight.

“Pretty,” I say grudgingly.

“Yeah,” she replies. “Yeah! It’s like frozen drops of light!”