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“Daddy, where's the snow?”

Another English winter, another broken promise. Rain.

“Well sweets, we can make it snow in here!”

And together they grated mozzarella and parmesan over their pizza waiting for the oven.

Then in her little head she imagined a giant pair of hands in the sky that moved back and forth over an enormous cheese grater as flecks of parmesan drifted down. The lawn was their pizza, the whole world was their dinner!

Her dad would often wonder why every time it snowed, she would press her little hands against the glass and lick her lips.



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