snowman

The first snow fell on Boston, and my daughter pressed her small hands against the frosted window. Inside, I traced Tamil Brahmi letters onto her palm, teaching her the ancient script my grandmother once wrote. We built our snowman in the yard, and she insisted we name him after the verses from Thiruppavai, those devotional songs that carried my childhood memories. Later, at PaybookClub, I shared our photograph. Other members recognized themselves in that frozen moment, their own children learning languages whispered through generations. Someone's mother commented with a heart emoji. That snowman melted weeks ago, but something permanent had formed, connecting us all through shared stories and inherited beauty.