Image by J. Ketelaars from Pixabay 

I was probably so tiny
That the snow seemed so thick.
Thick enough to bury me
Up to my chest, my head peeking out
And I’d watch my mother
Carefully roll the snow.
She’d look back at me occasionally
Checking on me if I were okay.
Her eyes full of love.
I’d be lost her eyes,
Until she’d finish rolling the snow
And then she’d take me in her arms
Pointing her finger to a little guy.
I’d squeal out loud,
Amused at how we made a man!
Our little snowman!

She would quickly take me in
Right after we assembled
The snowman’s limbs,
Brush off the snow off my jacket
Immediately wrapping me up
In a warm blanket,
Worried that I’d catch a cold.
She’d sat me down on the couch
Bring us hot chocolate
And a tray of delicious cookies
That she had made
She’d then make me sit in her lap
Slowly feeding me the cookies
While narrating stories.
Stories of the heroic snowman
That stood in our backyard
Until I slowly fell asleep.

As time passed
The snow reached only up to my waist
I’d slowly try rolling the snow
With little hands and sparkling eyes
Trying to replicate my mother
Who would patiently teach me
How to make a snowman.
My own little snowman.
Giving my masterpiece a finishing touch
I’d look at my mother,
Nervous if she’d like the guy I made
Who was barely even a few inches tall
With the nose in the forehead.

Finishing her own snowman,
She’d look at mine excited.
Pulling me closer.
A smile would creep onto her lips
As she exclaimed and clapped with joy
Tears in her eyes at the same time
That always confused my little mind
But I’d feel on top of the world
As she would give me a little kiss
Pushing my little snowman
To sit right beside hers,
As we’d give the snowmen names
Clicking pictures with them.

But, my mother would never forget
To hurry me back inside
Wrapping me in a blanket
Making sure I was warm
She’d give me hot chocolate
And the delicious cookies
But this time, she’d narrate
Stories of how my little snowman
Was more heroic than her snowman
And I’d be amused
At how my little snowman
Could be so brave
And I’d still fall asleep
In the warmth of her embrace
As she caressed my hair

A few more winters passed by
And the snow only reached
Up to my knees.
And I’d make a huge snowman
But my mother made none.
She’d keep telling me repeatedly
To rush back inside
But I’d be busy arranging
The snowman family I made
And clicking pictures with them.

Still, my mother would drag me in
Wrapping a blanket around me
Trying to warm me up,
Scolding me out of mere worry
And I’d smile it off,
Sniffing around for the cookies
That came with a large cup
Of hot chocolate
And this time, I’d narrate stories
Of my school year
And how, with my friends
I’ve had fun in school.
But tired of all this
I’d still doze off 
And my mother would
Pull gather me into her arms
Caressing my hair
Planting gentle kisses on my forehead
Careful not to move much
Until I woke up again.

Now the snow reaches up
Only to my ankles.
I don’t know if the snow got thinner
Or I just grew older
The winters suddenly
Becoming darker and lonelier
But My heart still lingers in backyard
Waiting for it to snow
So I can shape a snowman.
For, I have known no better love
Than sitting with my mother
Stuffed in the warm clothes
Making the snowmen.
The heart craves for the cookies
The million stories
Alongside a cup of hot chocolate
Reminiscing her smile
The ocean of love in her eyes
Her fingers through my hair
Caressing me until I fell asleep.
The heart lives in these memories.

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