What the Snow Left Behind
Snow piles pull slowly away from the grass. Mud squishes in between the brittle brown stalks.
A soccer ball lies on its side; kicked one too many times so one side pushes into the other, turning it into a half moon.
From beneath the snow, a slip of paper emerges. Soaked through, school lined paper. Fading blue lines perpendicular to one red one.
It’s barely holding together. One touch would surely make it fall apart. Blue scribbles follow haphazardly along the straight ones. Handwriting.
I bend closer, trying to make out the words, but the paper is too wet. The ink too smeared. Here and there, I see “apple” and “visit”. Is that the word “flames” or “blame”?
I don’t dare pick it up to look closer. Who’s the author of these words? Why was the paper here? Was it carried off in the wind when the bullies pushed the binder out of her hands? Maybe she crumpled it up in frustration. Angry at the stupid comparison of “apple” to describe the color red. Did the teacher wonder where her assignment had gone? Were there tears as she tried to explain that she couldn’t find the paper she’d so carefully written out the night before? Did the teacher smile and say “You can have an extra day.” Were the flames a sentence about dragon’s breath in a story that the world would never know, lost in a snow drift forever? What other bits of imagination filled that piece? Were there other pages that would help her replace this one?
I stare down at the disintegrating paper and I am sad, but I’m also glad because somewhere, and not in a galaxy far away, there is a person who still sees paper as the answer to the question.
Until next Sunday, what small thing will you notice this week?
Curiously,
Shawna
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