“You’re a Parisian
snowman!” the young
girl, bundled up to her

eyeballs exclaims as
she places a beret on
top of a newly formed

snowman. He’s a bit lopsided,
but it’s the best she’s made
all winter. And the snowman

stares at her through his button
eyes and dreams of baguettes
and the Eiffel Tower and knows

nothing but a stationary life
and the happiness which
exudes from the girl each

day when she comes
to ask him how his winter
is treating him. And his

love grows for her more
each day as she gets taller
and he gets smaller.

“Je suis content,” he thinks
as he melts into the grass when
spring demands the young

girl’s attention.
A short one, but who
are we to say that

snowmen don’t live full lives?


One thought on “Snowman

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