The Puddle

“My snowman will be beautiful”, I say, forgetting I’m too old to be so happy.

My body is made bulky by the heavy winter coat and my fingers are getting clumsy, but I grin like a child, giddy with the cold. I mould him; sculpt him out of fresh, white snow until that moment when I feel so freezing I can’t imagine ever being warm again.

Hot chocolate seems so inviting…

“I’ll finish him tomorrow”, I promise, and hurry inside.

But there are some things I don’t understand, like love, war and weather. And tomorrow, a warm front moves in from one of the sultry southern places I have always planned to visit and never did. Moves in, and takes my snowman with it, leaving me a puddle of good intentions.

Advertisements

About Mauro Metallo

A Writer and Photographer equally at home in Italy and in Canada.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: