The Snowman

The Snowman

One winter morning, children ran into the yard and discovered that so much snow had fallen overnight that the whole world was white and quiet. “Let's build a snowman!” They rolled a great snowball, then a smaller one, and placed a round head on top. Dark pebbles became eyes, little twigs made a mouth, and a carrot became a nose. “He needs something to make him look important,” said a boy, bringing an old stick. And there in the yard stood a brand-new Snowman. He stood straight, looked ahead, and felt very important indeed. Toward evening the sun began to set, the sky turned pink, and frost pinched the yard's cheeks. Lovely weather, thought Snowman. I wish it could always be like this. An old dog lay beside his kennel. He had lived there for years and seen many winters. “Woof. New here?” “Indeed,” Snowman said proudly. “Who are you?” “I guard the yard. I used to live indoors beside the stove. These days I like fresh air.” Snowman grew curious. “What's a stove?” The dog lifted his head. “Oh, a stove means warmth. Real warmth. A fire burns inside it and makes the whole room cozy. In winter people sit beside it, warm their hands, dry their mittens, and drink hot tea.” Snowman did not understand, but the word “warmth” seemed strange and mysterious. The next morning, the house door opened. For a moment, he saw a red glow inside. “Is that her?” he asked. “Who?” “The stove!” “The very one.” Snowman could not take his eyes from the window. Every evening the warm glow returned behind the glass. “I want to go closer.” The dog sat upright. “I wouldn't.” “Why?” “Because warmth means something quite different for you. You're made of snow.” “So?” “Snow needs frost.” Snowman thought about that. It was hard to believe that something so lovely and inviting could be dangerous to him. Days passed. More and more often he watched the window. People passed, and he heard snatches of conversation. “What bitter cold!” “Quickly, home to the stove.” “There's nothing better than warmth.” You see? he thought. Everyone loves her. Why shouldn't I? One day he told the dog: “If I could move, I'd go indoors.” “And regret it very quickly.” “You don't understand my dream.” “Perhaps not. But I understand snow.” A hard frost came that night. Stars shone so brightly that the yard looked silver. Snowman was pleased. He felt firmer and straighter than ever. “There,” said the dog. “That's your weather.” But a few days later the wind changed. Water began dripping from the roof. Drip. Drip. Drip. “What's that?” Snowman asked uneasily. “Spring reminding us she's coming.” “I don't want spring.” “She'll come anyway.” The sun climbed higher. Snow softened on the paths. A first dark strip of earth appeared beside the fence. Snowman felt his sides growing less firm. “Dog, something is happening to me.” “You're melting, little by little.” “What happens afterward?” The dog came closer. “The water goes into the ground, into streams, and into the river. Next winter, who knows? It may return as snow.” Snowman considered this. “So I don't disappear completely?” “Very little in nature disappears completely. Mostly, things change.” That day the house door opened again. The stove glowed red inside. Snowman watched her for a long time. Then he said: “I think I understand now.” “What do you understand?” “I kept thinking that if something was good for everyone else, it must be good for me too. But I need something different.” The dog wagged his tail. “A wise thought from someone who only recently learned what a stove was.” The next morning the children ran outside. “Our snowman's smaller!” They straightened his carrot nose and added fresh snow from a shady corner. “Stay a little longer,” said a girl. Snowman felt glad. But spring could not be stopped. The days lengthened. Water ran through the gutters. Sparrows chirped more loudly on the roof. Slowly Snowman grew shorter. One evening he scarcely rose above the ground. “Dog?” “I'm here.” “I'm glad I was a snowman.” “And I'm glad you stood in our yard.” “I even like the stove now. From a distance.” The dog gave a soft bark, almost a laugh. Warm rain fell that night. In the morning, a puddle, a carrot, several pebbles, and an old stick lay where Snowman had stood. The children gathered everything into a basket. “We'll build a new one next winter.” The dog watched a thin trickle of water run toward the garden. Perhaps a new one, he thought. Or perhaps a little of the old one will come back too. A few weeks later, green spread across the yard. The first grass appeared near the place where Snowman had stood. The dog lay beside it in the sunshine and closed his eyes. The stove crackled quietly indoors, but she was no longer the greatest wonder in the world. Spring had brought wonders of its own. And every season, it seemed, held something beautiful for those to whom it belonged.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨