the snowman

The snowman grins malevolently as he rolls just beyond the reach of his nattily attired narrator. "I hate adverbs," he spits, sending a coal tooth flying. "I know what you want! You want happy! You want children playing and all manner of drivel. Well you're not going to get it," he yells and turns again to roll off the yard and down the street. "This seasonal crap is gonna end in chaos this year, brother!" he says, labouring and rolling determinedly.

Undaunted by cold or animosity, the narrator pursues from a safe distance. Calling out occasional phrases to his slow-fleeing dissident: "How lovely art thy dwelling places" and "How beautiful are the feet of them." He knows that his taunts aggravate. And, if you'd been watching him as I was, you'd have noted his smile. You would have also noted the spade he carried behind his back. Not much use in clearing driveways, but useful for other tasks. Resolutely he follows, grinning at the epithets spewing from the round-headed rebel. "You're a bunch of users and abusers! You build us up to watch us whither in the heat! What do you think of us then, when Spring comes around?"

Charity, the narrator thinks now, even saying it as he nears the fugitive. It's for the greater good, he says as he grips the spade with two hands, swinging at the soft centre, working his way up and down, destroying his creation, bestrewn on the sidewalk, buried alive.


 
The ride in:        drove the Honda in for repair

The ride home:        Temp -16'C Wind E 10 ks