Farewell to Snow Days


Halie Leland

Window-peekers, our skills are no longer needed.

Farewell, beloved snow days. So long, responsibility-free joy. Adiós curious, window-peeking self so diligently predicting how much snow would fall. You are gone now, into the void, and I miss you dearly.

‘Tis winter, ‘tis snowy, yet no free days scatter the weeks. Mother nature may try to protect me, but the malice of high school now looms in the very room in which I sleep. Though blizzards may try with their wind and might, no storm seems to disrupt the glowing screen that now encapsulates the devils by the names of Math, History and Science.

Oh, glory be to the olden days. Glory to pancakes and snow angels. Cheers to pajamas and bedhead. Thanks be to the white flakes that used to mean more than a simple, dismal “Oh, it snowed.”

I shall never forget you—the time when icy roads meant no work for the day, when staying home was a strange, delightful occurrence. I shall forever be in debt to you and the memories you provided.

That electrifying feeling of waking up on a snowy morning full of hope is now gone. And it feels as though snow days have joined the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus in the archive of our childhood joy. We salute you, snow days, and the magic you provided.

What did my lazy days do to you, COVID-19? Why take your anger out on such a beautiful, innocent thing? Am I not deserving of a free day once in a while? I fear that even when the halls of school are once again full, teachers will have gotten all too good at educating us in our homes. From now on, there is no corner of the world our textbooks cannot reach.

And suppose a glorious snow day were to occur this year; it would only come at the cost of losing my internet. And the prize of the free day—time at home—doesn’t hold much merit anymore. I fear true snow days are lost for the foreseeable future, as disheartening as it may be.

A student can hope for your safe return, snow days. But as of now, I most solemnly must say farewell.