The poor boy dreams of snow, asking if it will snow in December for his birthday. (He also thinks that people put up Christmas lights because his birthday is in December. So sweet.) He talks about maybe having snowball fights with his cousins in the Dakotas and asks what sleds are when he sees them in books. But we live in the desert, and if it snowed here, it would be highly unusual. The last time was probably fifteen years ago or so. So he makes snow houses. He still doesn’t realize that sugar cubes can be eaten, so he glues them together and adds cotton ball snow drifts. They remind me of the crumbling ghost towns in New Mexico along the road to Santa Fe. I love to see the structures that he comes up with on his own. I love how he dreams of the impossible.