Snowman - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
I was so proud of our snowman, standing there in a field of green. His time will come to feed the rivers and streams, but for the moment he enjoys the sunshine, one twig-arm reached upward, the other toward the grass and soil. He's smaller than he was, but you'd never know it. Snow melts that way, right? Gradually like a picture being changed one brush-stroke at a time.
The Snowman Theatre has been besieged these past few days. After the snow storm the teens flocked there to build an army of snowmen - literally. There are snowmen dying, bleeding out their food dye onto the snowy sidewalk. There are shocked snowman faces and half-snowmen clawing at the ground with their stick arms. It is street theatre I suppose, or perhaps street art, the best kind. Now when the children come to watch the play they get to laugh at the frozen show outside. With the temperatures set to stay below zero and more snow on the way the legions will surely grow...
Beneath the frost, beneath the snow, beneath the cold bright sun, lay the snowman of yesterday. The frost was his winter jacket and the frigid air a salve for his crystalline skin. Around him the birds shivered under puffed wings and the nighttime flurry still trickled in its leisurely way to the ground. The snowman had been fully briefed as to the "rules" during the bewitching hour but he had other ideas, brilliant snowman ideas. Beneath the blanket of white he grew a pair of legs like the children who ran past in clothing brighter than the holly berries. When he was quite ready, his clandestine limbs complete, he clapped his stick hands for all to see and stood up as tall as the elderly trees of the Victorian avenue.
When anyone wanted to know how to build a snowman they went to Grayson - the snowman king. At nineteen he should have moved on to more grown-up endeavours, but there was something about building snowmen that stoked the fires of his imagination. When he'd started "The Snowman Club" seven years earlier his mom had simply rolled her eyes, but now their home was a winter destination for neighbourhood kids. If there was snow on the ground the kids arrived in toques and scarfs.
The snowmen sprung up faster than springtime daisies with delicate carrot noses and dark eyes. Grayson was a fan of food colouring and Calvin and Hobbes style gore. When the building was done his army of cold children retreated to his house for hot chocolate and to hear the snowman poetry contest. If they could make Grayson laugh they'd win a marshmallow snowman - and since he laughed so easily and so often it was always worth a try.
Frosty the snowman lyrics were all Lily would sing, over and over until the free Christmas CD from the supermarket sounded like a great idea after all. After hearing it "on repeat" for the best part of the morning Grandma was definitely not "a jolly happy soul." Her face was ruffled just the same as when she smelled something foul. Suddenly she leant on the windowsill, pushing her santa hat up from the rim of her glasses. There was snow outside, deep large flake snow, perfect for rolling into a snowman. Lily could make her very own "Frosty the Snowman" and sing her heart out where only the lonely robins could "appreciate" it. Her scowl softened to almost a smile while she fetched the mitts and hat; it was better by far to have everything ready and get Lily out the door in an excited hurry.
Snowman ideas tumbled from the grey puffed clouds, falling as softly as the large flakes. Today would be a fine igloo with snow guards. Jada showed her gap-toothed grin to the sub-zero air, "I just have snow-many ideas!" Her brother raised his frosted brows.
"Yes," he said, "your just so punny." Jada explained her idea, talking more with her hands than her blue-tinged lips. In no time at all Zac was cutting snow-blocks while she rolled the body of the first snow guard. "What are the guards for anyway?"
Jada, without skipping a beat, said "from the abominable snowman of course! We're making him tomorrow!"
The snowman figurine sat next to the front door, stubbornly refusing to melt like its watery brethren. Unlike the snowmen Grayson built every winter, it was only a body and a head. During the long summer months just looking at the glass sculpture and made his hands tingle in anticipation. During the fall at least the cooling air whispered of the wintry months to come. On the first white flurry he headed to the kitchen to make his celebratory snowman cake - three layers of course and encrusted with coconut. Some folks love halloween, others adore christmas, but for Grayson it was all about that first day of snow.
Snowman soup swirled in the children's festive mugs while a blizzard raged about the house. Outside, almost obscured by the blustering white flakes, their snowmen stood in a regimented line, stick arms saluting the snow encrusted window. Each one bore a different expression and one of Grandma's hand knitted hat and scarf combos. Little Edna had decided to go on a Hogwarts theme and so hers stood in the middle draped in a velvet lined cloak that flapped in the gale. The smallest snowman had lost his head and it had come to a stop staring into the sunless sky above. The children poked at the hershey kisses and marshmallows, watching them melt into the hot chocolate. When the "soup" was gone they closed the curtains on the wintry scene and retreated to watch the snowman movie; scurrying toward the smell of popcorn that drifted in from the kitchen.
The snowman cut a forlorn figure in the park. He'd been rolled from boulders of snow and then carved into the abominable snowman. The first sound to reach his frozen ears and set his heart beating was the gale that weaved between the naked trees. He stretched his twig fingers and uncurled his white toes, raising his head to the twilight sky. About him all of the footprints had been snowed over except one set - those made by Tim Tarken. His coal eyes fell to them, scanning over the brilliant white park to the road beyond. His snowman mind began to tick and spark. There was a child to meet, perhaps to dance with, play with, take to north pole for the snowman's picnic.
Snowman pictures tumble from the kitchen table almost as fast as the flakes outside. Sasha is a whirl of crayons and elbows, oblivious to the fate of each new "masterpiece" as it zigzags through the air to the linoleum below. Outside the mullioned window, snow resting on every pane, is her muse - the snowman. He is every christmas card snowman, fat of body with a carrot nose. Upon his head sits a top hat, a cane resting in his stick hands. He is Frosty himself and he stands perfectly still beneath the winter sun.
Snowman poetry left Dana cold, yet building snowmen in weather frigid enough to freeze salt-water warmed her heart. There was something about a white page that was more chilling than a snowdrift in an arctic blast. In the snow ideas came in three dimensions, dancing with one another to make new combinations. She carved her "poetry" in the crystalline white until her fingers no longer felt like her own and her teeth chattered with nothing to say.
After the snow storm Maverick wasn't content to make a three ball snowman with a carrot and two stick arms. He'd rather chew his own fingers off than make anything that cute. No, he would make snowmageddon. There would be snow heads without bodies and bodies without "legs" and best of all his Mom's red food colouring would be the blood. Lot's of blood. Their mouths would be perfect screams, he'd been saving the black lids of the coffee pots all summer just for this. It was going to be awesome; better than halloween.
The snowman had been pristine and white only two days ago. Now it was dirty grey and one of it's coal eyes had fallen out. Tommy tried to stick it back on and it stayed for a few minutes before tumbling out again. The grass was already peeking through the thinning snow, sinking his hopes of skipping school to toboggan down the embankment at the graveyard. He stood back to take in the state of his creation, it was smaller, drooping, mutated and filthy, but he hoped it would last another day. Then without any warning a memory struck, his Dad used to dress them up with an umbrella and a top hat. There would be no school after all! He would take the money he'd earned mowing lawns down to the thrift store for top hat, and if they didn't have one the wedding store at the mall would. It was less of a decision than a compulsion and it was a race against the sun. He stashed his satchel behind the electricity box and ran down the street, the gush of melt water in the storm-drains urging him on.
Rolling balls of snow along the blanket of white, piling 3 balls on top of one another, heavy, tricky, almost slide right off, milk bottle top eyes, carrot nose, long wooly scarf, a pom-pom hat, two stick arms, children laugh, stand back proud, Mom takes the photo, snowman watches the world pass by on the street, never flinches from the flying snowballs, waits patiently for warmer days, first the eyes fall off, then the carrot nose, smaller and smaller, until the hat and scarf lie empty on the grass.