He was the first snowman I had ever built.
Coal for eyes, a fresh carrot for a nose, pebbles for a mouth; I stood back to look at my handy work. He looked good, not too fat, nor too thin. He didn’t look happy, though, no matter how I arranged the pebbles.
Dad was watching me through the kitchen window. His hands were wrapped around a mug of hot tea.
I turned to my snowman.
“I said I’m sad.”
“It’s because you’re cold.”
“Can you warm me up, so I’ll be happy?”
“I’ll bring out the kettle.”
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