Deliciously naughty. Forbidden. That’s how it feels, burrowing under the covers after hearing the news – “it’s a snow day!” Billowing snowflakes muffle the outside world, even the thudding of snowplow blades. Then freezing rain clatters against the windowpane and glams up every twig and bough in sight. And the day ahead yawns – empty – like a cave that’s never been found. I concern myself with finding slippers, stoking the wood stove, boiling cups of tea, and considering whether the power will stay on – or not. Snow days. Those days – when the calendar stands still and the world transforms itself in white – bind my loyalty to life as a Northerner.