- Story by Ashley Dahl, Grade 12

 

At first, it was an uneasy feeling, climbing to the tops of the cliffs to build the snowman. But it seemed the farther they climbed, the closer they grew to accomplishing something. Their father had taken the same journey every year until the cold claimed his life. Now his children carried on the tradition - no longer for bragging rights, but now as a yearly memorial to their dear departed father.

 

The brother and the sister fell to their knees, the sound of the snow crunching beneath them barely reaching their ears over the whistling winds. They smiled sadly at each other before digging their mitten-covered hands into the snow and forming it into a snowman. They started small, with a one-foot snowman, but as their father's voice filled their heads and as his spirit warmed their hearts, they worked furiously.

Soon the snowman stood taller than either of them. The brother and the sister climbed to their feet and stood beside it, their tears on their cheeks frosty and chilling. "I miss him." The sister whispered, running her hand over the uneven lumps on the snowman. Her brother nodded. He dropped his backpack and dug through it, handing his sister the squares of coal for the snowman's buttons and face, and the carrot for his nose. The sticks for the arms he kept.

 

When his sister was done giving the frigid snowman a warm smile, the brother gave the snowman his arms. The arms stuck straight out as if he were flying.

The sister pulled the final item from the bag: their father's scarf. Her brother helped her wrap it around the snowman's neck before they held each other.

 

"Soar, Dad, soar." She whispered.