There I sat, reading a story authored by my grand daughter who just turned seven. It was slow going because her spelling was . . . well, just what you would expect from a seven-year-old. But it was a good story. She was telling about the recent snow that missed Tennessee, but hit at her house in Georgia. She and her parents and brother built a snow person, made snow balls and generally wallered around in the snow. Then came my favorite line. She said, "I put a snowball in my pocket, but the next morning it was gone."
Howard