I nose the door open and the world greets me in a glittering hush, each flake a tiny invitation. The air nips my whiskers and slides into my lungs, clean as river stone. My paws find the crust and it sings—crrrrk—under every step. I bounce. I leap. I plow chest-first into a drift just to feel the powder explode around me like thrown pillows.
Snow carries stories. I read them with my nose, long sentences braided through the yard—rabbit, crow, the neighbor’s cat who pretends to be brave. I press my face into the cold and come up crowned in frost, a monarch of winter. Breath steams from me in clouds that smell like adventure. My tail writes exclamation points across the sky.
Wind tugs my ears and I answer with zoomies, fast circles carved into the white page. I make angel shapes with my ribs. I scoop mouthfuls, taste the metallic sparkle, then sneeze so hard the flakes fly. The cold sharpens every edge of the day; it turns me from sleepy rug into arrow, compass, comet. If you throw a stick, I’ll find it by the weight of the silence when it lands.
Sometimes you call me in, and I hesitate at the threshold, snow bearding my chin, ice bells clicking on my fur. Inside is warm, yes, and I’ll curl by the vent, melting into a small storm of droplets. But even as my coat steams, my heart beats in wintertime.
Because out there the world is honest—no smells rot, no sounds lie. Out there, I am built for it: thick coat, strong lungs, bright eyes. Let the sky keep falling. I will meet it nose-first, joy-first, again and again and again. Winter is my song, my playground, my forever favorite.