I AM THE SNOWMAN
The snow fell in sheets. I opened the door. The snowman stood before me.
“You have done this to me,” he pointed to a spot of maize that covered the area where his heart could have been.
When I was formless and mindless, no more than what you see lying on the ground - “ he pointed to the field,” -you in your arrogance did this to me.” He pointed again to the spot that could have been his heart.
I slammed the door and shouted, “No.” He tapped at the window with his broom stick.
“I am not from here,” I screamed. “I come from where there is no snow.”
A wall of snow cascaded from the roof and enveloped the snowman. “Good! Good!” I demonically exulted. I hoped he would suffocate in the essence of his being. But, when the snow settled I saw him wave from the middle of the yard. The spark of light from his pipe bowl illuminated the backdrop of the black sky.
“You have done this to me and you have always lived in snow, ” he said.
I turned to my atlas and wept. The snowman was right. I was from the land of snow and had always lived in snow.
I let the fire die, and gazed wistfully at the last flaming ember. I wrapped my muffler around my neck, put my top hat on and grabbed my corn cob pipe.
I went to join my brother.
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