A gleaming speck which appeared momentarily bright as a star was descending from the sky, sailing past the roof of the house. It was a snowflake, one of a number falling lazily to the earth. "Let's catch them," Johnny shouted, and ran to be ready for the one he'd first spotted. "Mummy, I've caught it," he cried.
Ellen saw it land on his palm. When she went to him she was astonished by how clear it looked, a feathery star composed of glass, and how it seemed to be lingering. Margaret had caught one too, but rubbed her hands together quickly to make it vanish. Now Johnny's was a large drop of water which he let fall to the ground. "I'm the boy who caught the snowflake."
"It's just a story, Johnny," Ellen told him, not knowing why she felt she needed to, and ruffled his hair when she saw his disappointment. "A lovely story, though, and it's ours to keep. But the rest of our lives will be our best story of all."
A wind like a whisper of agreement passed through Sterling Forest as she ushered the children towards the house, and a few more snowflakes fell. They hadn't really taken longer to melt on the children's hands than they should have, she told herself. She unlocked the front door and switched on the hall light, and thought how to cheer Johnny up. "Next year if you like we'll see about making a path all the way through the woods," she said, and followed the children into the house, where the tree from the forest was waiting. She breathed in the warmth and the scent of pine, and murmured something like a prayer, too low for the children to hear. "Let this be the Christmas we missed," she said.