80 word drabble

She had decided she liked the snow.

It did not have the treachery of sand, where it would suddenly blow up in your face.

No, most of the snow would lay still, even when the trees made loud creaking sounds. Also it tastes good, much like water in bottles. But, tomorrow, she will have fizzy drinks. She will be six years old, and everything will be good.

And the snow has a quiet colour. Dulling the noises of the past.