A week after the recent snow, the white stuff had virtually vanished. Its only noticeable remains seemed to be in those great open spaces for parking, where, in order to make it possible for shopping, the graceful covering of snow had been compacted into mountains, almost obscene in their unnaturalness.
I happened to spot what seemed like the snowís only remaining trace within a residential setting. Walking along one of the thoroughfares regularly traveled by cars and pedestrians, I saw a two-foot wide clump of ěbeaded ice,î which is the look that snow always assumes with age.
Due to it being the only ěiceî around, and being in the vicinity of a local college, I had to look twice to make sure that it wasnít just discarded ice from some college studentsí party.
In those yards where tall snowmen once stood, was now nothing taller than grass. In these once ěoccupiedî yards, two small tree branches could always be seen, having once formed the upper ělimbsî of a snowman. A few small rocks were lying about, having once been buttons and eyes, along with a withering carrot nose here and there.
In some yards, hats and scarves were in the grass, as if someone had lost them while in a hurry and didn’t seem to care if they were sufficiently wrapped for a winter day.
A few brooms were scattered about, as if someone had been sweeping the steps or sidewalk and gotten distracted by a phone call, forgetting to resume their sweeping where they had left off.
I thought of a way to view the apparent absence of the snowmen who perished as the temperatures rose: The men of snow were once quiet sentries standing guard on the lawns far behind their winning front. That front shifted in reverse, leaving them trapped in territory which now belonged to the opposing side.
Being only equipped with brooms and unable to excavate foxholes for their protection in battle, they ingeniously solved their predicament by seeping subtly into the ground.