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The curvaceous oak tree’s limbs trembled, the snow dropping into the ground, joining its friends on the perfect blanket. My woollen gloves were soaked through, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was the joy in the moment.
‘Missed me!’ I yelled, moulding my snow.
As I let go, it flew across the park like a well aimed baseball, only to be caught by our dog. It puffed into nothing, and he stared at ground, wondering what happened to his imperfect sphere.
Writer Ravenclaw 