The Night the Snow Came

It was nearly bedtime in the little town. The lamps were lit. The curtains were drawn. And the sky was soft and grey and full.

Something was coming. Something very quiet.

Then, just as the moon peeped out, the first snowflake fell. One little flake, round and white and slow, floating down, down, down.

Then another, and another, and then far too many to count.

The snow had come.

---

First, the snow came to the rooftops.

It settled on the chimneys, on the red roofs and the grey roofs. It spread out like a big white blanket, and tucked itself in at the edges.

And the rooftops went quiet.

Hush on the rooftops.

Next, the snow came to the hill.

It drifted over the grass and made the hill round and smooth and white, like a pillow plumped up for the night.

And the hill went quiet.

Hush on the rooftops, hush on the hill.

Then the snow came to the park, to the bench by the duck pond. Flake by flake, it gave the bench a soft white cushion.

And the bench went quiet.

Hush on the rooftops, hush on the hill, hush on the bench where the park lies still.

---

In the hedge by the garden gate, a little robin was fluffed up, round as a ball.

The snow came to the hedge. It settled on the twigs above her like a tiny white roof, so the robin was warm and snug inside.

She tucked her head under her wing. Her red feathers rose and fell, rose and fell.

And the robin went quiet.

Hush on the rooftops, hush on the hill, hush on the bench where the park lies still, hush on the robin, round as a ball.

At the edge of the wood, under the roots of an old oak tree, a fox lay curled up in her den, with her bushy tail wrapped round her nose.

The snow came to the wood. It hung across the door of her den like a soft white curtain, and inside it was dark and warm and cosy.

The fox gave one long, sleepy sigh. Her ears went soft. Her paws went still.

And the fox went quiet.

Hush on the rooftops, hush on the hill, hush on the bench where the park lies still, hush on the robin, round as a ball, hush on the fox, curled up small.

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And last of all, the snow came to one little window, in one little house, in one little room.

Do you know whose room?

It’s yours.

The snow can’t come in, of course. But it settles on the windowsill, soft as a whisper. And in here, your blanket is tucked up warm, right under your chin.

Tomorrow, the whole town will be white and new. There will be footprints to make, and snowballs to roll, and a snowman to build with a big, round tummy.

But not yet. Tonight is for sleeping.

So close your eyes, little one, and listen. Can you hear the snow?

Not a sound. Just the quiet, falling softly over everything…

Hush on the rooftops, hush on the hill, hush on the bench where the park lies still, hush on the robin, round as a ball, hush on the fox, curled up small, and hush on you, the littlest of all.

Hush…

Hush…

Hush.

The End