A Note from the Kindergarten Manager

On a winter morning, the playground of Suwa Kindergarten transforms into a vast, white wonderland.
The second heavy snowfall of the year has arrived. In the midst of the silence, the children’s joyous voices echo through the air.

“The Snow Queen visited us last night!”
One child exclaims, eyes sparkling with excitement. As they speak, their breath turns into a soft white mist, dissolving into the air like magic.

“Look! Mount Fuji has appeared over there!”
Another child points at the frost patterns on the classroom window.
“It must be a secret map leading to a hidden sanctuary!”
They say it so matter-of-factly that even the adults find themselves nodding in agreement.

All across the playground, new worlds are coming to life in the hands of the children.
A snow kingdom, a dragon’s cave, an invisible but certainly real magical door—everything is shaped by their boundless imagination.

The teachers watch over them, their expressions soft and warm.
In the end, adults only need to step slightly into the world children create, and suddenly, they remember something they had long forgotten.

With every snowfall, Suwa Kindergarten transcends its usual playground and becomes an infinite canvas.
It is filled with the children’s creativity, cooperation, and the power to live fully in the present.
The stories they weave become footprints in the snow—marks that will never fade.
Snow is a mysterious thing. It disrupts transportation and makes adults sigh in frustration.
But for children, those tiny frozen water droplets have the power to repaint the entire world.
To me, snow is just something cold. But to them, it is the key to a kingdom, a clue to rescuing someone, a doorway to adventure.
Now, I wonder—will I be in charge of building a snowman today, or will I find myself managing the royal treasury of the Ice Palace?