Behold the snowman.
Or snow-woman, as it may be.
Close your eyes and think back to those frigid days when we were so young and our gloves weren’t quite warm enough (and didn’t fit good at all!). Remember how we used to stand out in the whipping winds of winter, our eyes tearing up but our hearts beating wildly as we squatted with our friends, our brothers and sisters, and helped create something that can only be considered the finest of art.
From a small mittenful of fresh heavy snow we packed more on and rolled and patted until the snowman came alive for us right there in our backyard or out by the curb or down at the park.
Later, we laughed and flirted and acted carefree and unconcerned with our high school friends, the magic of the snowman’s creation channeled into the very act of building him itself. You could even fall in love with someone around a snowman; people have, you know?
Now, we stuff ourselves into our coats and tight ski pants and hot sweaters and head out to conjure him up with our own kids.
They follow us excitedly into the yard, a carrot stick in one little fist, maybe a spare hat in another, you with the loose game plan for how to get it started/them looking at you with full confidence and impatience galore.
We start the snowball small and tight and then we encourage them to join in, which they do, in their own rough lovable way.
We have, if we are lucky, built quite a few snowmen in our time. They have followed us across the years and down the trails we’ve chosen.
They are a part of our lives.
Because they are awesome, even if they can’t stay too long.
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You can also find Serge on his personal blog, Thunder Pie.
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