November became December, and every day I hoped it would snow. And one day it did. "Sini, come to the window." Tiny white snowflakes were whirling down. I tried to follow one. I lifted my head, singled one out, and moved my eyes with it. Before the flake hit the window, I had to step away. Watching it made me dizzy. "Sini, let me out for this one time. It's snowing!" I looked up at her. What would happen if I went out just once. "Sini, please."
"You know you can't, but I'll let you touch the snow," she said. She opened the window a little bit. I stuck my hand out far enough to catch some snowflakes. A pity, they melted as soon as they landed on me.

Johanna Reiss, The upstairs room (New York, 1972) 52.