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Children's Stories
by Margo Fallis
Magic Snow

Snow fell all night long, covering the grassy hills with a deep white blanket. Jorge and Inga stayed inside their cabin, piling logs onto the fire. The smell of baking bread filled the rooms with a pleasant aroma. Smoke rose from the chimney, spiraling into the sky. Outside not a sound could be heard. Somehow snow had a magical way of silencing the hills.

Inga woke from a peaceful sleep and wiped the mist from inside the window. “Jorge, you mustsee this.” During the night someone had built five snowmen. Each wore a hat and all had carrot noses and coal eyes, mouths and buttons. Sticks poked out from the sides to make arms. “Snowmen! Who would do such a thing?”

Jorge climbed out of bed, slipped his feet into his slippers and stood in front of the window. “You're right, Inga. Snowmen. How very odd.”

“Let's have some breakfast and then we'll go outside for a closer look,” Inga said. She wrapped her robe around her and went into the kitchen. “Jorge, it's freezing in here. Would you start a fire please?”

Jorge grumbled and complained, rubbed his hands together and stacked the chopped wood in the fireplace. He lit the fire and soon the chill was taken from the room. His nose twitched, smelling the aroma of cinnamon rolls and sizzling bacon.

After filling up on porridge and the rolls and bacon, the two of them dressed quickly. They donned their boots, gloves, hats, scarves and heavy coats. Leaving the warmth of the cabin behind them, Inga and Jorge went outside.

“That's funny. I only see four snowmen now,” Inga said. She looked across the field of white. Just then something tugged at her coat. Inga turned around and gasped. “It's the snowman, Jorge. It's alive.”

The icy man stood before them, its carrot nose dripping and it's mouth in a huge smile.

“Hello, little snowman. How did this happen?” Jorge gazed at the coal eyes.

“My name's Brrr. When I sniffed your cinnamon rolls, I came alive. Are they magic cinnamon rolls?”

“No, they're not and I don't think that had a thing to do with it. I think this is magic snow. There's a legend that long ago whenever it snowed all sorts of strange things happened to the villagers. Snowmen came to life and so did the snow angels,” Inga said. She patted the snowman on his head. “I suppose those legends were true.”

“Why don't you come with us into the cabin and have a cinnamon roll?” Jorge reached for the snowman's hand.

“He can't come inside. Brrr will melt. I'll bring one out for you.” Inga trudged through the snow and brought back a cinnamon roll.

The snowman ate it.

When Inga turned around, she saw that all four of the other snowmen had come to life too.

“What's this?” Jorge looked at the snowmen. “They're all alive.”

Inga went back into the cabin and brought out cinnamon rolls for all the snowmen. She mended their torn hats and scarves and Jorge made sure all their coal buttons, eyes and mouths were polished and shiny. Inga replaced their wilting noses with new carrots. All day long they played with the snowmen. They played hide and seek, where it was nearly impossible to find a snowman!

When the sun went down, Jorge and Inga bid their new friends a good night and promised more cinnamon rolls in the morning.

Inga bounded out of bed when the sun rose and baked a fresh batch. The scent of cinnamon wafted in the air. She opened the door and took a tray outside. Her smile turned to a frown when she saw all five snowmen were just plain old snowmen again. None of them were alive.

Jorge put his arm around his wife's shoulders. “It was magic snow, Inga. It only happens once in a lifetime.” They both stared at the snowmen and then went back inside, never to forget that winter's day when the snow fell, covering the hills with a blanket of white.

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