text: Frost and little beads of ice cling to crumbling brick and grey stone. Heavy snow blankets a roof, and a black cat sitting with its legs tucked underneath it sticks out like a beacon. Snowflakes speckle its fur. Just like everything else across the country. Pine and juniper trees look especially stylish when there is snow because they're newly clothed and, ironically, cozy looking in their white jackets. The sun rises above the hills and the neighbourhood in vibrant, soft hues of orange and purple. A minute later, it blends into baby blue and pink. Greyish white roofs become sparkling white sugar cookie frosting. Maroon bricks and damp wooden gates become bright children's books' illustrations. The capital of the country is a friendly, fast-paced society of bustling citizens. Through the busy masses of street food vendors setting up their stalls and business men and women scuttling hurriedly into trains, a hop, skip, and a bus ride away, is an immigrant couple in a small neighbourhood who haven't gone out in the snow for two years since they moved in. And they're asleep right now, laying together in their bed. A woman flops her arm to the side, half-asleep, searching for the curve of her partner's waist. Her hair is greasy from not washing it for a while, so she swipes the stuck strands away from her face with the back of her hand. It's quiet, and for some reason, feels so peaceful for her all of a sudden. She opens her eyes halfway, eyelids still heavy with sleep. She parts her lips, and cold air hits her teeth. A light breeze waltzes in through a slit under the window and ruffles the curtains, dappling the room and bedsheets with pastel gold sunlight. A snowflake falls against the glass, and that's when she realises: it's snowing- Oh! It's snowing! It's snowing. In January. But she's too tired to care. Instead, she rolls to the right and presses the home button on her phone. 7:45AM. Birds have started chirping. Shut up, she mumbles to herself. Her lips taste weird and her tongue is dry. So she pulls herself up, makes a grotesque expression to exercise her face, and reaches to her bedside table for her bottle. After two sips and a gargle she swallows, she presses her face against the back of her lover's shoulders and goes back to sleep with her arm comfortably resting over her body. The day goes on. Until the evening, a timelapse of the sun's rays disappearing from their bedroom and their tired limbs moving once or twice plays. And at 7 o'clock in the evening, sharp, when the sky is orange again, they wake up. "Go take a shower," her lover mumbles into the crook of her neck. So she gets up, groggily, swinging her legs one by one onto the hardwood floor. Her stomach rumbles as she makes her way to the chilly bathroom. She strips, then steps into the shower. Her lover gets up as well, and makes the bed. "Darling, can you bring me the towel?" She calls out after a few minutes. "Yeah, sure, wait," they say. "Do you want to work today?" She asks once she exits the bathroom, fluffy red towel wrapped around her body. Small droplets of water dripping off the ends of her hair hit the floor as she dresses herself. "I feel... hmm..." her lover's reply trails off, and she notices they're sitting on the foot of their bed and staring out the window. The sun is setting now; sky turning heather purple. "I want to spend the day out." Without any consideration, the woman agrees. The past few months have been like trying to sculpt a statue from a block of steel. She takes a thick hoodie from the closet. "Then let's go sledding," she suggests with a smile, laying across their made bed and wrapping her arms around their waist. "That sounds nice," they agree absentmindedly, looking at the clouds becoming pink. The bed dips as the woman slides off it. They turn their head. "Wait, sledding? We don't have a-" She's standing on the side with the tough plastic lid of a storage bin. "Yes, sledding. With this," she says, beaming and holding it up at a jaunty angle under her arm as she awkwardly attempts to put on an extra coat with the other. They look at her with a warm, cheeky glint in their eye; "I like that." After another shower and some packing, the front door closes behind the two of them, and they start their trudge through the snow to the hills bordering the neighbourhood, hand in hand. They share pecks on their cheeks. They have a few munches of Kit-Kat and gulps of water from their backpacks. And by the time the woman's calves are slightly sore, it's 7:30PM, and the sky is darkening, but they've reached the foot of the hills. The sun has completely set, leaving only chilly, biting air and dim purple sky. With leftover light casts shadows over the white hills and jacketed trees, the world is a peaceful winter wonderland. "Is this a good one?" She asks, a little out of breath, pointing to a fairly steep, but low one. Following a nod of agreement, she takes her partner's hand and drags them (and the storage bin lid) up the snowy hill. On the top, she huffs a few breaths that turn into puffs of warm air. They become clouds, and it entertains her, so she does it a few more times before laughing and falling backwards into the foot-thick snow. Her partner joins. They wrestle about like they did in their youth; and it makes them happy. It's perfect. "When was the last time we went sledding? I think it was in 2017 when we went to Japan," her partner says. "Yeah. Sit properly, I don't want your fat bum to break the plastic," she scoffs in a playful tone, pushing them nearer and nearer to the slope with her hand. Then, when they reach, she pushes her lover, making them lurch forward over the edge. Their untied hair whips around and against their face, collecting new falling snowflakes, accompanied by crumbs of compact snow and more hearty laughter. The second time they go down, the lid catches on a clump of hard snow and they overturn. "Ahh! Again, I want to go again!" She guffaws loudly, clumsily stumbling backwards to pull the lid back up. Tired out, her partner just giggles breathlessly and helps her push it. When the sky becomes navy blue, they sit in the night under the clear sky and let the moon, stars, and phones be their light. And after a longer while (because of sore calves and thighs and exhausted lungs), they trudge home. "We should do this again next time it snows," her lover suggests. "Agreed," she, well, agrees.