When I was little I loved the snow, everything from the crunch under your feet, to the cold stinging sensation of making a snowball with your bare hands, to the woolen taste of frozen breath condensation on your scarf.
I'm not sure what I expected Nathaniel's reaction to be, but I thought it would be closer to a Jack Ezra Keats-like enthusiasm, rather than the nonplussed, 1000 yard stare I got when he stepped on frozen tundra for the first time.
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