Snowy Sighs

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Adam loved the snow before, but now he hated it. It wasn’t because he was cold. The morning had just dawned, and he was comfortably resting in his house under a thick layer of a cozy blanket that covered his faded green pyjamas. In a flurry, munching on the cornflakes floating on the swirling white background, Adam pondered.

See, he knew exactly why he detested the snow; why the picturesque view of the white treetops and the army of adorable snowmen seemingly marching into existence were unable to win his favor of the snow. Even with their beauty colouring the dauntingly frigid world, for they forespoke of the freezing cold that was coming.

There was the cold, and then there was the Canadian cold; they were nothing alike. A normal cold was perhaps negative five to eight. It was a time of jolly laughter and knitted mittens. Children would laugh, as their breaths condensed into an opaque smoke, while the adults would sit on the lounge beside the hearth - where the cats perched merrily–drinking beverages like hot chocolate. That was the normal cold. Canadian cold, on the other hand, meant tripling that number. Homemade woollen mittens, sewn with grandmotherly love, didn’t work during negative twenty-four degrees. You needed thermal-lined mittens. Dappers, wearing stylish jackets, had the same “bright ideas” as someone lighting a candle and dropping it in the ocean. Expecting their candle to stay lit, they were oblivious that the fish, leaping out of the water, would devour the candle first, before it was extinguished by the waves. The Canadian cold meant the wind that shredded warmth, and the general cold atmosphere decimated any idea of comfort.

Besides, snowmen and snowball fights did not hold the same light as they once did. Sure, Adam had fond memories of them, but he had grown out of them. Relish was no longer left in Winter.

He sighed and stuffed more cornflakes in his mouth, glancing outside once more.

The sun was still up, and the thick blanket of snow covered the faded green grass. The snowflakes fell in a flurry, gradually floating down in the swirling white background. Groaning, he put on the white winter jacket and marched off towards the door and threw it open. Then, he reluctantly took the shovel from his mother’s hands.

What he had thought of earlier–and what he was now experiencing were nothing alike. Jolly waves of laughter echoed around from the children struggling to roll the snowballs that were much bigger than themselves. Meanwhile, the adults under the twinkling Christmas lights–sat on their porches, smiling while cradling steaming mugs in their mittened hands.

With a flushed look and a little grin perched on his face–like a cat on a hearth, Adam continued shovelling until he noticed–on his left, a curious scene. Beside the old shack, which once looked over an aqueous pond, the Canadian cold had produced an ice rink. The youths, of course, had taken advantage of it; with bright smiles, they skated on it as their breath trailed away like a candle’s smoke. The wind, like a crème on a latte, harmoniously laid on the Christmas tunes softly playing in the background. The Canadian cold had indeed arrived, but smiling–Adam picked up a snowball and threw it. Perhaps he loved the snow-nonetheless.

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Published December 25, 2020

Written by David Oh ~ Graphics created by Jessica Moerman