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I’m in my dorm room, night has come. I’ve opened the window a crack and the wind whistles gently like an owl’s whoo-whooooing. It’s snowing, the flakes falling softy and whirling about in the wind. It’s such a thing of beauty that it seems like magic. Narnian lamps stand like sentinels beyond the window, casting golden light on the snow.

I feel like I’m in a dream, or a storybook. It almost makes me forget that I have to go to school tomorrow. But school doesn’t matter a whit at the moment, all that matters is the beautiful snow and God’s happy smile as I enjoy the wonder.

I’ve returned from my weekend at home and have decided to call this place ‘the fort’ since it’s not really ‘home.’ ‘Home’ almost feels like a sacred title to which I gladly owe my loyalty; it’s where my heart is. And my heart is not here. I am lonely here up at Fort Bellingham, very lonely, plain and simple.

I had the greatest time with my family, though we didn’t get to church due to the snow. All four of us headed up to Snowball Pass and then down the Faery Trail to the Black River. I traded off between taking pictures with Mom and getting into snowball fights with Dad and Ian. A world of white is wondrous thing. The evergreen trees laden with snow remind me of the Nutcracker when the audience watches the Sugar Plum Fairy dance for the first time. In moments like that, everything is just perfect.

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