WINTER WIND

I found a handwritten copy of this in a suitcase I haven't used for a few years, remember writing it in Balto. and reading it to my son as an example of what I do. He was driving me to the airport to come back to FL. I also recall putting it into my computer and sending it to others but don't see it in my documents. Do you recall reading it? In any case, I'll count it for today's story.

Gray is such a sad color most of the time but today I eagerly await the heavy December sky and fall in love when it drops thousands, millions of white snowflakes on my city, my house, my hair. Fingers stiffen, turn red. No longer blue, I cease to be an American flag. There is a snowman yet to be born who waits for me to put on my woolen gloves, make a snowball, roll it round and round my once green lawn. His belly gets bigger and bigger, too large for me to push further than the side of my front steps. Another handful of white flakes, rolled round to the perfect size I can lift and plunk down on my new friend’s body. My heart pounds, is over worked.

Inside my house a tingling warmth gives me the chance to fill a plastic bag with a long, orange carrot, two pieces of black string licorice left from Trick or Treat night and two glittery colored stones (treasures of mine stored in the garage). A felt hat, no longer worn, is pulled from my carton of give away clothes and outside I go.

The snowman waits, bare of face, void of lips. As I stick the carrot in the frozen top ball he starts to breathe. The black licorice opens his mouth and he says, ‘Hi, Mom!’ One stone in place, silence, but stone two lets him wink to me. He sees me, I see him and we are friends until one day soon the sun will come out.

I know without asking he feels naked and cover his bald head with my big floppy hat. He stands there, still stoic, sad to see me go back in the house to rest, fix hot chocolate, but I must. It’s still snowing, the wind is blowing, my age is showing. Looking out the window I am sad as this snowman will be the last one this 90 year old lady makes. Already his hat has blown away and I can’t chase it. Before long we will both disappear.

Perhaps we’ll meet again some bitter cold nite at the North Pole. I’m going to sleep now, worn out but content and looking forward to my flight to the Pole.