Together my wife Mary and I built a snowman. We gave it eyes and a mouth of stone, a carrot stub of a nose.

Mary asked me to take a snap. She posed with her chin on the snowman's head, her hand on its breast. The snowman looked a bit embarrassed. It leaned away from her.

I said it's nice to see you looking happy and rosy cheeked. Added I love you. But she only stared at me with her pebble-grey eyes.

Next morning, thaw. Oh, Mary said, she's gone.

Was it a she then, I asked.


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