The snow days always filled him with awe. He never understood how white flakes fell from the sky so quietly and so peacefully. Growing up in Port-Harcourt, it was always a slight variation of the same breeze that caressed your face- thick with humidity in the rainy season, dry and aggressive in the harmattan. But here in America, one needed two entirely different wardrobes for summer and winter. But today was not the day to think of Port-Harcourt and become homesick. It was a day to admire the snow and the maker of the snow! His love for the Maker of the Snow was long coming as he had grown up in a Christian household, although he was not quite sure when the Holy Ghost fire caught his mother, and she began to spend night after night in vigil.