The old man looked out his window on Christmas morning.
Snow lay like ground up bone on the frozen earth.
He pressed his face against the icy glass and shivered from the chill.
Across the street, he saw the neighbour boy rolling a carpet of snow, pushing it as it grew and grew.
The boy’s fierce work inspired a resurrection of memory in the old man.
Distant childhood flooded back.
Years of celebration.
Tinselled tales.
Hollied hope.
Welcoming wreaths.
And, in time, frailty and loss.
Tears tumbled onto the cold windowpane.
The boy’s snowman slowly began to take shape.
