Thoughts from a Snowman

To whom it may concern:

I am a tiny snowman sitting on a stoop outside some place called Madison Avenue Baptist Church on a snowy Sunday morning. I’m not quite sure how I got here, but here I am. My entire life (all thirty minutes of it) has been spent watching people… watching and thinking and wondering. So I thought I’d write down what I learned. I mean if Meredith Baxter can write a memoir, I certainly can too.

It all started when I was very young, which was about 15 minutes ago. I noticed how no one looked like me. Granted I’m only a foot tall and I have a scarf made out of a piece of a garbage bag. But it’s people’s faces that I’m talking about. Unlike most people, I have a big smile – thanks to a yellow twisty tie.

I stand out here smiling at passersby. Some see me and smile. But, most don’t. The ones that always smile are little people. And the smaller, the more excited they are. “A snowman!” they’ll squeal and then reach down and fix my scarf and pat on more snow. I like them. The big people, however, don’t usually smile; in fact they don’t even notice me.

But of course, how can they? They walk by too fast, looking down at the sidewalk like they are going to find the $270 million dollar mega-bucks lottery ticket. They seem in a great hurry; seem terribly worried about something. They seem so sad.

I’m only a snowman, but on a day like this, why worry? There’s magic in the air! There’s joy to be found--even in the tiniest things like a snowflake. Every crystal is unique. Every crystal is a masterpiece of design. And not one design is ever repeated. When a snowflake falls, the masterpiece is revealed. And when it hits the pavement and melts, it is forever lost.

Most big folks miss the snowflakes like they miss the other great moments of beauty and magic in this life. Moments that will never be repeated; moments lost to worry. And for what? Do you remember what you were worrying about six months ago? It’s like a saying I read on a fortune cookie paper blowing by: “today is the tomorrow that we worried about yesterday.”

I wish I could write more. But I can tell that the snow is starting to wane and the air is beginning to warm. I don’t want to waste one minute of my short time here on this stoop. So I’d best get going. I have work to do … and smiles to offer. Just slow down your pace and look up from the sidewalk -- maybe you'll see me!