Yesterday I walked down a snowy backwoods trail only to discover that I was not the first to pass this way.  The morning was still crisp and new, yet someone had beaten me to the spot and was waiting there for me. He was small, white, and scantily – yet appropriately – clad. He had no eyes or legs but stood there staring forward and posed slightly askew.  Though equipped with only frail buckthorn arms, the tiny snow-being employed them with great effect. “This way,” he declared with a certainty unusual for one so young and temporary, “this is the pathway you must follow.”  His left stick arm was held out at a right angle and showed no signs of tiring. Frozen deodorant no doubt aided in this endeavor, but the friendly mini-man was there to help and guide.

  I silently took his advice and continued down the path in the indicated direction. I arrived in a snowy clearing under a bright blue sky, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary at first. Soon, however, the wind carried the “Ook-a’leah” sound of a Red-wing Blackbird newly arrived from the south.  It carried the rich bubbly notes of a Carolina Wren, the “reality” call of a male cardinal, and the rain song of a Robin. In the distance a Killdeer repeated its name a few times and ceased.

  A bit further on, I spotted a sugar sickle – frozen sap dripping out of a slight break on a maple branch. Here was proof that the trees were starting to re-call their lifeblood from the roots below the ground.  Thousands of gallons were coursing through their veins and bringing liquid renewal to the buds above. This river of life would go un-noticed were it not for the wounds through which it leaked.

  Overhead flocks of crows were flying westward – an age-old sign to us humans that the syruping season has begun.  An overly fat Fox Squirrel, perched precariously on the maple twigs, was harvesting the freshly sweetened buds above.  He paid no heed to the flocks of passing black birds nor made any sound other than contented munching.  

  I tasted the mild sweetness captured in the sugar sickle and continued on my way. I fully intended to thank my little trailside snow elf for his direction.  After all, he had guided me to a world full of early spring indicators in a landscape still gripped in winter.  Here was a creature of ice pointing the way to a world that he could never live in. This was a noble act. He could have pointed back toward the frosty wood, but chose not to. Carelessly, I got caught up in the morning stroll and made my way back via a different trail and therefore missed the chance to express my appreciation.

  This morning, I rushed to the snow man spot in order to explain myself and apologize for my inconsiderate act of the day before. Overnight temperatures had soared and it was already reaching the upper 40’s by the time I reached my tiny guide. But, I was too late. His top two thirds had tumbled to the ground and his butt flesh was misshapen and pitted. The pointing arm was still in position but was now parallel to the ground and non-directional. His long stickish nose barely maintained position on the reduced eyeless face.  A large part of my friend had passed – from ice into water. 

  A slight feeling of remorse overcame me as I contemplated my insensitivity. I never even thanked him. This guilt feeling was quickly replaced by mild rage as I perceived numerous deer tracks about the location. It became shockingly obvious that some oaf of a deer had clutsed into my snow elf. One careless swipe of a hoof had prematurely ended my friend’s career by severing him in two. He might have survived another hour or two if that pin-headed hoof bearer hadn’t come along.

  Two nearby deer approached me with feigned innocence.  They no doubt were watching me and reveling at my reaction.  Deer will do that, you know. I re-formed the remaining stuff of my deceased pal and hurled it at them. They remained motionless and were un-moved both physically and mentally. Deer will do that, you know. I left them to their own as they mocked the icy humanity they had just snuffed.

  I regained my composure by the time I reached home. I realized that deer are just stupid children of the woods and that they have no real sense of esthetics. I also realized that snow men, just like the winters that spawn them, are not meant to last forever.  This winter is on the flip side and my friend boldly went where snowman had gone before.