White Pixie Dust

It was a cold, grey January day.

“Let me tell you a secret, Griffin.”

“HUH,” The boy half-growled, scrunching his eyebrows together in a way that he intended to make him look tough.

“Grown-ups aren’t really grown-ups. They are just kids who have to deal with a lot more responsibility.”

         “NUH-UH!” he scoffed, disbelieving.

As the tedium of the day continued, the sky turned paler and paler until the powdery crystals began to twirl downward. As they fell, tension grew. But the icy specks did not stick, they only dissolved into poor little puddles as soon as they landed. 

  Foots tapped. 

Bottoms wiggled. 

Eyes were never on the board, always on that window to the outside world.

Would something magic happen?

Later, in the frigid white that so rarely layers the red clay of Georgia, the children and teachers ran around in the swirling snow.  The echoes of all the voices laughing and calling out bounced off of the concrete walls of the school. It would have been difficult to distinguish between them, even if anyone had been trying.