It’s snowing. I’m lying on the ground, feeling the snow melt under my body. The sky is silently white; the snow has absorbed all the filth from the world. The snow is flying from the unreachable sky and landing on my face. The last time I was lying on the snow was twelve years ago with the person I loved the most. He told me that snow flake is a message of love from people in heaven to those who they love, so nobody will feel lonely when they are walking on a cold street alone.

      Last snowy winter, Granddaddy and I tasted our first bite of snow. The slightly sweet taste went down my throat slowly, and the cold snow turned into water and warmed me up from the inside. In a little piece of black card, he collected the most beautiful object in the world for me – the message from heaven. Every single snow flake is a unique beauty with a detailed and complex structure holding the love message and story. He and I used those secret messages to make a snowman. Every time my little hands and his big hands patted the snowmen, he would turn slightly invisible from the heat of our hands. We would settle it in the top of the refrigerator with ice-cream, so he would see the first bloom of the morning glory and evaporate back to heaven by the first sunshine in the spring.

       During the spring, I woke up every morning with the sweet and fresh smell of morning glories. The mixture of purple and blue misted in the shining dew. Granddaddy picked those flowers like a father touching a newborn baby. I could see my smiling face in his kindly eyes. I would touch his face and ask: “why do you have so many wrinkles?” he would say: “I always smile when I am with you, so my wrinkles will be in the right place.” So I would tell myself to stop smiling, but I guess the reaction of smiling is a smile in return.

       During every summer afternoon, we would sit in the middle of the balcony. Sunshine made a lighted square for him on his stool and me on my little white chair that he made for me. He would always pick out the seeds from the watermelon, and I would wait for the juice while listening to the squeaks from my chair. I enjoyed puzzling the seeds into different shapes on the concrete floor, and he enjoyed sweeping them which began a dance for all the dust particles in the sunshine. I would still see the broken trace of the seeds smiling on the floor. Sometimes I eavesdropped on some cicada’s conversation; they were always arguing about who should get a piece of watermelon.

       During every autumn evening, Granddaddy and Nana would get in a fight over who would get to control the twenty inch black and white television. Nana never lost, and she would begin to snore right after she got the remote. I would glide to the TV to change the channel, and every time she would wake up at the exact moment I was about to push the button. I would sit on my Granddaddy’s leg and throw peanuts into Nana’s half open mouth, which was open because she always ate cucumber while she would watch TV. He snoring was like the bass in Jazz, which changed frequency and volume with the amount of peanuts I threw in, until she woke because I tried to touch the TV or we would laugh too loud. We would always try to laugh silently, but I laughed so hard that my stomach would hurt. I would fall asleep on his legs with my sore stomach, and when I would wake up again, I would be cuddled up in his arms in our single size bed listening to Nana’s jazz.

       After that last snowy winter, I moved to the city with my parents far away from my childhood memories. Everyday, I would wake up with my brand new toys; I would play with my same age friends from school; I would control the TV and watch my favorite cartoon; I would fall asleep with my dog in my single size bed. I didn’t remember if cicadas were still making noise during the summer. I didn’t like going to school on my bike alone in the rain during the winter, because after my class all my clothes would dry except a small place on my behind. I was scared by my parents fighting, because unlike my grandparents it was not the kind of arguing I could laugh at. I remembered I had so many things needed to be remembering during my school year, but I couldn’t think of what they were.

       Granddaddy was ill after I left. I went back to see him during my third grade summer break. It was a sunny day; the garden of his community had just gotten a fountain with a fake river around it. However, the fountain and river were dried. Surprised, I realized the cicadas were all silent. All the leaves had climbed up to the balcony and windows; I would barely see his house from the bland new garden. I went up the stairway step by step; they seemed to have shrunk but multiplied since the last time I left. The house was strange for me; it was dim and silent, even the smell was like mold. Granddaddy was lying in our hard wooden single bed; beside it the basins and potty seat were sitting in his étagère. He heard me walk in and opened his eyes slowly, trying to raise his arms and give me a hug, but my legs were dead, my hands were shaking. His boney arms, wrinkly face, and hoarse voice were all strange to me; and it all covered the kindness of his eyes and the sweetness of his heart. I ran to the balcony, to hide in the bright square, so I could feel the sun hitting my body telling me that I was not alone. Tears fell in the place the seeds’ smile used to be.

       I’m lying here in the snow, raising my hand to reach the sky, feeling the snow touching my face, melting and evaporating in the air. I don’s know when and where it landed or disappeared, but I feel it. I remember the morning glories slowly became partially curled in my dark hair; the cicadas got angry with each other and didn’t talk anymore; the jazz stopped playing because everyone’s complaining. However, after the snow melts, it’s always the spring; morning glories will always have new flowers bloom each day; cicadas like children can never keep their mouths shut; and music will never stop even if some people don’t like it. Granddaddy sends me the message to cleanse the filth from my life, so I will always know how to enjoy the taste of snow, the smell of sunshine, the sounds of dancing, the color of the heat, and the touch of smile; how to put wrinkles in the right places and put people in your hug while you still can.