Snow Day

I passed a tiny house in a snowstorm last week. In the very small front yard, dressed like four-year-olds with scarves, hats, quilted parkas and fat mittens were a man and a woman, probably late twenties, building a snowman. Maybe it was for their child, or maybe their child had already built it and they were finishing it, but I don’t think so because they were sitting on the ground laughing and talking like people do in the yards of their little starter houses before the kids come.Probably one of them took off a mitten to photograph it on the cell and send it off to friends. “Look who followed us here!” they maybe said, or something more clever. I smiled to think of that.

Later in the day, I thought of the people who would never do this. Wouldn’t take the time, wouldn’t want the mess of snowy clothes to deal with, wouldn’t want to be cold, or fall down, or spend the time looking for long underwear. I won’t be one of them. Before the winter is over, I will make a snowman with my husband. I will do it for two reasons: because we’ll have fun, and because we now have children who will wonder what the hell got into us when they get the photos from my cell.