Letter: Emily’s Little Snowman

By David Anderson (Emily’s grandfather).

This was his world and he wondered what they were doing out there.

The little snowman wouldn’t have seen them at all in the very, very early morning except for a blinking light moving swiftly across the water. Wraith-like the shadowy, indistinguishable form emerged through the falling snow, drawing closer and closer, and then it stopped.

Like an ellipsis in a sentence, eight tiny dots (or were there nine?) appeared, a line below them connecting them all as if underscoring, for emphasis, their presence in a most inhospitable setting.

Or so it seemed to the little snowman.

‘Humans’ he supposed, then he turned his attention to his big buddy, stretching out his own spindly arms to greet the big fellow above him and the two together embraced the morning sunrise.