The Snowman

Tom woke to a quiet, white world. Snow had fallen all night and covered the garden. He pulled on his boots, wrapped his scarf, and ran outside.

Tom rolled three snowballs, one big, one medium, one small. He patted them smooth, used coal for eyes, a bright carrot for the nose, his father's hat on top, and wrapped his red scarf around the snowman's neck.

Tom stepped back and said, Hello, I will call you Mr. Snow. The little snowman watched with dotty coal eyes. Then, very slowly, Mr. Snow blinked, his carrot nose wiggled, and Tom laughed.

Tom clapped. You can move! he said. Tom put on his gloves and held Mr. Snow's twig hand. They walked down the path, crunch-crunching in the snow, the town looking like a picture book.

At the hill behind the park, Mr. Snow pointed with his twig toward the top. Tom whispered, What if we go up, and fly? The wind picked up and the whole hill seemed to laugh as the snow sparkled.

Slowly their feet left the ground. They floated up, up over the rooftops, chimneys puffing little clouds and streetlamps like sleeping giants.

They flew higher and passed flocks of birds. A friendly owl hooted, Who-who travels tonight? Mr. Snow tipped his hat and the owl showed them the Northern Lights.

Down by the sea the water looked like molten midnight. Fishermen waved from the docks, a seal clapped its flippers, and Mr. Snow bowed as they passed islands and fields where foxes slept.

When the moon climbed high Tom grew sleepy. It was time to go home. They floated down to the garden and Tom hugged Mr. Snow. Mr. Snow wrapped Tom's red scarf around his shoulders, tipped his hat, winked, and settled down.

Tom dreamed of sparkling lights and flying. The next morning the snowman stood where Tom left him, a little more stone-like, his carrot nose bright. Tom put a mitten on the fence and smiled. He built another snowman whenever snow fell, because imagination brings wonder and joy.