Daily story, January 13, 2025

Two snowmen are standing in a field. One says to the other: “Can you smell carrots?” The other says: “Wow! A talking snowman!” Both laugh so hard their heads fall off. They look up at the sky and at their own towering bodies for a while. Before long, a passing crow spots their currant eyes: rare sustenance in the frozen landscape. It snatches them up, one, two, three, four, and the snowmen become part of it. Over a day or two, the snow melts, but the snowmen melt last. Their heads disappear first, and then their bodies. It tickles when a mouse nibbles at their fallen carrot noses. They are absorbed into the soil to nourish the spring bulbs just coming through. They evaporate into clouds, and fall as rain, and begin again. A little of them is in each of next year’s snowmen, each of next year’s flowers, each of next year’s people. From time to time they remember the carrot thing, and giggle.