Snowman Bob ❤️
Winter returned unexpectedly. Snow had been falling for two days straight, covering the world in a thick, white blanket. The tree branches, heavy with snow, bent low, almost touching the ground. I can’t remember the last time I played in the snow.
I carry many childhood memories—photographs, too. One, in particular, stays with me: my mother pulling me on a sled, smiling, happy. Winters were different then. Wilder, truer, full of magic. I am grateful that, living in the mountains, I still get to experience them.
I will build him? Yes. Why not?
Since I came here, life has taken on a different dimension. I live. I experience. I think. And when he finally stood outside, he became real, tangible. A strange feeling—he stands there, staring at my window. He has come into being. He exists. In the morning, I looked outside to see if he was still there, or if perhaps, during the night, he had wandered off.
In a few days, he will melt. Disappear. Vanish without a trace. And yet, as long as he stands, I feel his presence.
Bob. His name is Bob. Those who know Bob will understand. I miss him.
A bit of snow, a bit of time—and here he is. Soon, he will be gone. But the memory will remain.
