My feet rest on the wooden porch. The ancient wood creaks slightly when I push my feet into it, gaining momentum on the porch swing. Cool air fills my nostrils and the fog of my breath plumes out of my mouth when I exhale. I can’t see it, but I know my nose shows off a frosted red tint. I rub my hands together and continue to swing myself back and forth.

My insomnia thought it would be a great idea to be outside at twelve A.M on a frozen January night. My fluffy robe may provide some warmth, but not as much as my winter coat, which I left hanging up inside the house. I don’t know why I chose the robe instead; I’m positive that winter coat could keep me warm in the North Pole.

Goosebumps graze up my arms when the first snowflake makes its appearance a few feet from the porch. It’s as if the world somehow grows colder when it hit the stiff grass below. More white specks cascade down the sky, and I can’t help but get off the swing and walk to the railing. I lean against it, sticking my hand out, palm up. When the first couple of flakes hit my fingers, they melt instantly on my warm-blooded skin. All that they leave behind are tiny puddles of cool condensation.

As the snow comes down heavier and thick, the damper and chilled my hand becomes. But, I don’t mind. In fact, I traipse off the porch into the night, wetting my night slippers. Snow falls all around the trees. Flakes slip through the pine trees and some stick to the acorns or prickly leaves. In the distance the silhouette of the mountains makes themselves known, and I envision their peaks decorated with a silky white blanket.

I look up, and relish each unique flake fall gently around me; they caress my face and body as they ascended down onto the earth.

It is now that I’m grate for insomnia; I am grateful I can embrace and admire a beautiful midnight snow.