Snow falls from the sky, heavy flakes, each carrying its own tale wrapped up in its crystals. The winds grow stronger and crueller, and the snow is forced to change its course, hurling itself against the shaggy, wooden homes. Finally, the roof of one collapses, burying the unknowing family in an icy grave.
Then a loud thudding noise wakes Po up. The roof squeals under the pressure of the snow but still fights to keep itself steady. PoÔÇÖs mum runs into the doorway, carrying PoÔÇÖs 8-year-old brother, drowsy from sleep. Po grabs her shawl, the only warm thing in her reach and follows her mother quietly to their basement.
As her brother falls asleep on the single mattress and her mother dozes off in her armchair, muttering prayers, Po switches on the television to keep herself company. She tries to distract herself from the horrifying thoughts creeping up at the back of her mind. Skipping through channels, she sees that each bears the same ÔÇ£no signalÔÇØ message. Disappointed, Po views the room again, taking in the details she had not before. ÔÇ£ThereÔÇÖs the painting Grandma made and those blankets Grandpa brought from Europe, and oh! thereÔÇÖs the frame dad carved last year; I thought IÔÇÖd lost it.ÔÇØ She runs her little fingers over the smoothly carved letters of her name, Pauline. Tears come to her eyes at the remembrance of her father. The windÔÇÖs howls turn to low moans, and Po could hear the wistful hoots of an owl in the distance.
Struck with nostalgia, she crawls into bed next to her brother and thinks of the joyful Tuesday mornings when they would receive letters from her father. ÔÇ£TuesdayÔǪ wait, TUESDAY? ThatÔÇÖs tomorrow, ” Po realizes, excited, and running that thought through her mind, she falls asleep to her brother’s smooth, undisturbed, rhythmic breathing.
The following day is full of noise as everyone inspects the damages done to their houses. Then, as PoÔÇÖs mother is anxiously exchanging dialogues with the mailman, Po stumbles in the snow, trying to get to her mother. She watches her brother and his friends throw themselves in the snow under the watchful eyes of fretful mothers. And Po stands impatiently at her motherÔÇÖs side, waiting for her to finish talking to the mailman about the oh-so-apparent weather conditions.
Her mother eyes her warily and slips the familiar brown envelope into her daughterÔÇÖs hands. Po smiles and waves the letter to her brother, who immediately comes over. The two run to their house, hand in hand, set up their motherÔÇÖs chair near the fire, and sit impatiently, waiting for her to come. She soon comes, cheeks rosy from the icy wind, and smiles at her children. Then taking the envelope from Po, she carefully opens it and begins to read.
She stops reading after 8 minutes, and, by that time, all their smiles get replaced by an indescribable expression. Po walks to her room and throws herself on the bed, crying. The northern border had received threats, and her father, a soldier in the army, would have to stay in the cantonment as part of the reinforcement crew. He would not be able to visit his family nor send any letters to them for however long the inevitable war would last.
