I wake up to my little brother bouncing on my bed, chanting something. Before I can make out what it is, I grumble, "Ben, it's Saturday. Go'way." I turn over and shove my head deeper into the pillow.
"But Emma!" He wails, climbing up the bed to get next to my face. "It's snowing!"
"What?!" I jerk my head up, causing enough commotion to knock Ben and five of my multitude of pillows onto the floor. He squeals and rolls across the pillows, the dinosaurs on his pajamas looking like they are rolling with him.
I shove aside the couple pillows left and my covers, vaulting across the room. On my way to the window, I pass my calendar, ripping off one day.
It's now July 23.
As I look out the window, I conclude that yes, it is indeed snowing. I glance over at my calendar again. No, I had not read it wrong. I checked my drawers; no turtleneck sweaters there. Am I dreaming? No, Ben answers that my favorite aminal is an owl and no, there are no fangs in him mouth, why would I ask that?
Ben continued his chant of, "Its snowing, it's snowing! It's almost Christman time!"
Definitely not dreaming; my Brian would have corrected those two horrendous pronunciation mistakes.
I look sways from my bouncing brother Ben and back to the window.
Wait a second.
I open the window and stick my hand out to catch some of the sparse "snowflakes."
When I pull my hand back in, there are three small white flowers in it.
"It's not snowing, Ben. The flowering dogwood outside is dropping its flowers."
