The Snowman

Do you remember making a snowman, patting a ball of snow together, rolling it across the ground ? The thick, hairy mittens that soon became covered in small balls of snow, especially around the wrist, hampering your efforts to keep them over your wrists? The chunks of ice that often pressed against the underside, chilling them into reddened skin and then painfully chafed areas that caused you to lick them, or put your lips against them to warm them up temporarily? Then ignoring it while you worked on a second ball of snow, and a third, trying to complete the snowman before having to go inside for some warm relief?

By this time you were dancing to keep your toes from becoming stiff chunks of frozen skin that felt like they were swelling inside of your boots and making it impossible to walk without looking like a Frankenstein monster? Eventually you had to stand by while someone else rolled the last ball, and you stepped forward bravely despite the pain in your boots and mittens to help lift it into place, hoping that it would stay in place so you could run into the house for its comforting warmth.

Remember that? I do, and I barely beat my children into the house too.


Barbara Blackcinder


About Barbara Blackcinder

I am a poet/writer with a need for words. There are so many out there that I haven't used yet. They define all reality and mine when you read those from me.
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One Response to The Snowman

  1. Delightful, Enchanting story 🙂

    Please, Barb, don’t ever stop writing stories—sure, keep up the poetry—but, keep writin’ those stories 🙂

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