Red Wellies

Red Wellies

On a crisp, white morning. Just before the world awakes. There is a
sense of quiet and stillness. I look around me. The newly laid snow has
not yet been blemished.
The low wall next to my house has a ridge of snow on it, the shape of a
church steeple. Tiny marks show that a sparrow, or maybe even a robin,
has hopped along its full length, in search of food.
I breathe in the fresh, cold air. I exhale a thin mist that rises above
my head and disintegrates into the atmosphere.
It's a very lonely place, this time of day. But the compensation is
worth it. Silence. Peace. Calm.
It's like a new world has taken over the old, and brought with it
expectation.
I gently close the back door to the house, not wanting to wake anyone.
I want this new world all to myself, just for a short time.
An hour later I climb back into bed. Tired. Wet and cold. I cuddle up
to get as warm as toast, and fall fast asleep.
Sometime later I wake with a start. I can hear squeals of laughter and
children's voices. I get up and put on my dressing gown. I go down the
stairs.
The children excited and filled with wonderment don't understand how he
came to be.
There right in the middle of the garden, is the most magical of snowmen
they had ever seen. It was in fact the only snowman they had ever seen.
It was in fact the only snow they had ever seen.
He has a cap just like Grandad's and a scarf like Nanny's. He has on a
pair of sunglasses and three tennis balls for buttons.
"How did he get here"? They ask.
"Who put him there"? They enquire.
"I have no idea", their grandad says mysteriously.
"Come in now before you get too cold".
Sophie and James rush into the living room to look at their very own
snowman through the patio doors.
"Let's go and tell mum and dad all about it" whispers James. And they
both rush up stairs.
As I look out of the front window I watch the snow turn into slush by
cars and children on new bikes. The magic all but disappeared. I turn
to look into the back garden, Mr Snowman is still standing tall and
proud.
I feel an arm come about my shoulders.
"Now which foolish, 70 year old woman, do you think, would wake up at
the crack of dawn and build a snowman for her grandchildren on
Christmas morning?"
I shrug my shoulders, "I've got no idea what you're talking
about".
I walk into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
"Haven't you forgotten something?" My husband of fifty years hands me a
pair of wet, red Wellington boots, he found by the back door. I just
smiled.