A poem about an unusual snowy Sunday.

My alarm blares out of my phone speaker. I immediately roll over to grab it and hit snooze.

Exhaling and rolling back over to face my window, I'm blinded by the brilliant light coming through. It must've snowed last night.

Ten or so minutes later my alarm goes off again. This time, feeling more alive than I did ten minutes ago, I flail my arm blindly as I attempt to find my phone with my left hand and my eyes closed. Finally, I grasp it and stop the alarm.

After scrolling through my socials for a while I drag myself out of bed and stretch my arms above my head. I turn and lean my forehead against the windowpane to look at the snow, still falling. I love waking up to surprise snow like thi-

Wait a minute. The snow that's falling is circular.

The circles range in size, either pretty large and falling super fast, or tiny flakes drifting down slightly slower. I don't think I've ever seen snow this fast before.

I open the door to my room and start to clamber down the steps. As I descend I remember that it's Sunday, so my mom must be making the pasta for dinner. It already smells great down here.

I almost get knocked over by my mom running past me with a pot.

"Cristina, good you're awake! You can help me. Hold this for a second."

She passes me the pot as she opens the front door.

"Whoa, Mom what are you doing? It's storming really hard out there!"

"Oh don't be silly," she says as she opens the front door.

I close my eyes to brace myself for the icy wind to send chills cascading throughout my entire body, but it never comes. By the time my eyes are open my mom has walked into the front yard barefoot, snow up to her knees. The smell of dinner is multiplied by about a thousand.

I cough, shield my eyes from the crazy smelling snow, and step outside to hand her the pot. The snow isn't even cold.

"What's happening? What is this?" I gasp as I try to keep the snow out of my mouth to no avail.

The second I recognize what it is that's falling from the sky I hear my mom say

"Why, Cristina, it's snowing parmesan cheese!"

The best lazy Sunday is one where it snows, but it isn't snow that's snowing!