Crunch, crunch, crunch, her feet sank into the snow. She walked with her toes pointing out, like this:
She walked with her toes pointing in, like that:
Little m thought it would be fun to join the big boys in their snowball fight, but he knew he wasn't old enough - not yet.
M made a smiling snowman,
and she made angels.
She picked up a handful of snow - and another, and still another. She packed it round and firm and put the snowball in her pocket for tomorrow.
She told her mother all about her adventures while she took off her wet socks.
Then they all had burritos in the backyard, and went down for a nap.
And you thought it never snowed in LA.
Apologies to Ezra Jack Keats.
