Sunday afternoon my kids begged to go out and play in the snow. They built the most remarkable snowman, easily the best looking snow person that has ever graced my yard. My son complained of feeling cold, so my daughter and I finished up. She rolled the balls, and I got the privilege of assembly. With a hot red pepper for a nose, sea shells for eyes, and a curved stick for its smile, the snowman seemed to come alive with personality. It grinned and we smiled back, completely exhilarated and pleased with our efforts.
Later I noticed the hot pepper had fallen out and our snowman had lost one of his eyes. Oh hell no! That simply wouldn‘t do! I grabbed my coat and rushed out to make repairs. Later I glanced out the window again and was taken aback to discover instead of facing the back door as the snowman had been, it was now gazing toward the neighbors yard. My eyes were playing tricks on me, and with a shake of my head, I made supper pushing aside my uneasiness. Before long the back yard had been shrouded in pitch darkness.
I went to bed confident my happy snow friend was keeping vigil. Unfortunately, rain had come like a thief in the night and had effectively stolen my magical friend away. I discovered his absence as soon as I let the dogs out into the early morning light. I felt sad and cheated somehow. Only the bottom ball remained and his personal effects lay in a puddle of melted snow. Sometime in the night, he packed up his balls and left me. Just as magically as he had appeared, he was gone with only a precious memory in his place.
