It was a beautiful crisp winter evening. Few flurries hung suspended outside. Little Sahir sat there staring\u00a0out the window with joy in his heart he felt each winter. He rarely sat still but waited patiently for his mother to finish her kitchen chores. He had some exciting news for her. But he was afraid she would not believe what he had to share. As she came with her coffee mug oozing warm vapors and sat next to him, Sahir wasted no time.<\/p>\n
\u201cMama, I want to tell you something about my day.\u201d<\/p>\n
That elicited a quick response from Sahir\u2019s mother who was used to asking Sahir all sorts of questions about his day, but always hearing the same response, \u201cgood\u201d. How can all days just be good?<\/p>\n
\u201cGreat, I am listening,\u201d she exclaimed with anticipation.<\/p>\n
\u201cMama, I climbed on top of the snowman in our backyard, and it started walking.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sahir\u2019s mother chuckled in response. \u201cWow, that\u2019s some awesome imagination!\u201d was all she said as Sahir suspended his head low disappointed. He whispered to himself, \u201cexcept it wasn\u2019t imagination.\u201d<\/p>\n
Why wouldn\u2019t anyone ever believe him? He walked over to his father who was pressing buttons of his phone.<\/p>\n
\u201cPapa, guess what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat Lolo?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI sat on a car and it just started moving.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s very nice. You want to drive a car?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI did it, for real!\u201d<\/p>\n
A few hours later as the dining table was cleared up, Sahir’s parents overheard their children talking.<\/p>\n
\u201cGuess what Dua, yesterday I sat on your big yellow horse and it started moving.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWoooooow\u201d gasped Dua. They both erupted in crackling laughter. They emitted out sounds of a horse galloping, imagining riding it through the forest as their parents glanced at them fondly.<\/p>\n
Soon the day ended in darkness and silence of the night. In the morning, while Sahir\u2019s mother performed the daily monotonous chores thinking, may be it was possible for all days to be the same as one another. She peeked\u00a0out in the backyard and noticed something peculiar. Sahir\u2019s snowman was still intact under the cold, but it indeed, had moved. Sahir must have moved it, she explained to herself.<\/p>\n
But from that point each morning she walked up to the window. And, each morning the snowman shrunk a little and moved a little. One day she grabbed hold of Sahir who had long stopped talking about him climbing on top of things to watch them move.<\/p>\n
\u201cSahir, you want to tell me more about your ride on the snowman?\u201d<\/p>\n
Sahir did not answer. He was busy making buzzing sounds and rolling his favorite orange school-bus toy back and forth.<\/p>\n
\u201cSahir, are you listening?\u201d repeated his mother.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened to the snowman, did it move again?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo\u201d<\/p>\n
She sounded disappointed and didn\u2019t probe him anymore.<\/p>\n
That night dense fog enveloped the area. It appeared as a still from a scary movie with mystery shrouded in each nook and cranny. Her footsteps were gentle as she climbed down the stairs careful not to wake her family. Despite the fog, the outdoors was lit from the reflection of all the snow on the ground. And up very close you could see for a few feet past which the fog drenched the view in total whiteness. She could hear the crackling laughter, mumbled conversations as her heart raced. She imagined herself part of an animation movie except the crackling of the wooden floor beneath her feet was real, the coldness of the door knob to the backyard was hand numbing, waft of ear reddening winter breeze was chilling, and the sound of snow crushing under her feet was ambient as the laughter grew louder and louder.<\/p>\n
And at that moment, from under the canopy of the fog emerged the waddling snowman with a shrill voice with Sahir atop it, his hair rustling up and down, his cheeks red with cold and eyes closed in joy. Round and round they went buzzing and electrifying.<\/p>\n
And, the next morning, nothing had changed. Fog remained suspended in the air. The children worked on their omelets and fussed over milk. As Sahir\u2019s mother stared at her son, with fresh memory of his hair flying in the air and cheeks red as watermelon. It must have been a dream, she dared not cross check.<\/p>\n
As Sahir put his plate in the sink he winked at her and disappeared into the garage on his way to school.<\/p>\n
That evening as temperature rose and lifted the fog, out came the sun, and the snow man melted away. There was an old carrot and couple of sticks where it once stood. The snowman was gone but little Sahir\u2019s mother could never forget what she saw on that foggy night, and it didn\u2019t matter if it was real or just imagination.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It was a beautiful crisp winter evening. Few flurries hung suspended outside. Little Sahir sat there staring\u00a0out the window with joy in his heart he felt each winter. He rarely sat still but waited patiently for his mother to finish her kitchen chores. He had some exciting news for her. But he was afraid she […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_eb_attr":"","_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false}}},"categories":[42,6],"tags":[13],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"aioseo_notices":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kaFb-6X","jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookofdreams.us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/431"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookofdreams.us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookofdreams.us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookofdreams.us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookofdreams.us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=431"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/bookofdreams.us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/431\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":492,"href":"https:\/\/bookofdreams.us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/431\/revisions\/492"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookofdreams.us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=431"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookofdreams.us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=431"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookofdreams.us\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=431"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}